


Someone Else's Son

by NotTasha



Series: South Bridge Series [3]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Josiah Feels Paternal, Long Lost/Secret Relatives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 19:51:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 35,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6390922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotTasha/pseuds/NotTasha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Josiah hears that his long lost son is alive and in South Bridge.  He wants to go to him, but Ezra must tag along</p>
            </blockquote>





	Someone Else's Son

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMERS: This is fanfiction. No profit involved. It is based on the television series "The Magnificent Seven". No infringement upon the copyrights held by CBS, MGM, Trilogy Entertainment Group, The Mirisch Corp. or any others involved with that production is intended.   
> RATING: PG-13 for language and violence  
> MAJOR CHARACTERS: Josiah and Ezra  
> SUMMARY: This is the direct sequel to Somewhere In-between but, it also references things that happened in Night and Day. Josiah hears that his long lost son is alive. He goes to meet up with him. Ezra joins him.  
> ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: Special thanks to Keren and Flavia for their language skills - anyone who can speak more than one language is pretty cool.. Also, text used from "The Jumblies" by Edward Lear.  
> AWARDS: Winner of 2002 Diamond Ezzie for Best Old West Fic- General - Long  
> DATE: Originally Posted March 03, 2002

PART 1: Segue- this first section comes directly after the end of "Somewhere In-between"

The journey between South Bridge and Four Corners had taken longer than expected. First, they'd traveled far off the normal route, then they were forced to deal with the accident that came close to killing one of them, delaying them by another day. Preacher and gambler rode together in the dark. Josiah kept Chaucer close beside him and, for once, didn't have to worry about the troublesome horse butting his. Chaucer's movements were as smooth as glass, keeping his rider easy in the saddle.

Standish suffered the cold worse than any of them, and although the early autumn days were mild, the nights were growing chilly again. Ezra shivered under his jacket. Soon, Josiah would be able to get Ezra warmed up and have Nathan see to the gash on his head, see if there was anything he could do about the awful headache that caused the genteel southerner to squint and hunch his shoulders.

They'd had a trying day. Ezra had been sick more than once and they'd had to rest several times. At the last stop, Ezra had taken an ill-advised sampling from his flask. Most of the vessel's contents had ended up on his jacket and the rest didn't last long in his stomach.

‘Damn fool,' Josiah had thought as he tried to clean him up, and getting a pained expression from the man in question. Of course, he realized that Ezra didn't have all his wits about him at the time and couldn't exactly be blamed. Josiah should have confiscated the flask at the start -- that would have saved Ezra from himself. Sometimes, he had to look out for the young man -- someone should.

Ezra was only semi-coherent when they reached the town. It was a quiet night, and apparently everyone had gone to bed early. Josiah dismounted, keeping one hand on the other man. "Come on, Ezra," he whispered. "We're home."

Ezra turned his head slowly and met his eyes. The glance drifted as he took in his surroundings. "Thank the Lord," he muttered. "I thought this day would never end." He tried to disengage himself from the saddle without success and ended up falling hard onto the other man. Josiah stumbled back to keep from dropping him. 

"Sorry," Ezra sighed, as he pulled away from Sanchez. He moved drunkenly as he found his footing. "Didn't mean to…"

"I'm fine, Ezra," Josiah responded adamantly. "Let's get you settled." He led him the short distance to the front steps of the saloon and set him down on the bench. "You wait here. I'm just gonna take the horses to the livery and get the boys to bed them down. I'll be back for you in a minute." His voice became stern as he added, "Wait for me. I don't want you to try those stairs without help." When Ezra looked annoyed, Josiah pressed one finger to his chest. "Behave!" he ordered. "Remain!"

The stunned look on Standish's face was priceless. His jaw dropped and his eyes opened wide for a moment before he dipped his head and looked away. Finally, he tugged his jacket close to him and slouched in his seat, grumbling. Josiah chuckled. He'd have to remember that -- just use the same commands that Ezra used with Chaucer and he'd get the man to mind him. He walked back to the horses, gathered their reins and led them to the stable.

It took a few minutes to rouse the sleepy young men that looked after the animals, but Pat and Eddie came soon enough. The horses deserved some tender care after the past few nights on the trail. Sanchez grabbed their saddlebags and headed back to the saloon. He quickened his step when he discovered that Ezra was no longer alone.

Larabee had found the slouching man on the bench, and as Josiah hurried toward them, he could hear the sharp conversation. "You care to tell me about what happened in South Bridge?"

"Not at the moment, thank you," Ezra murmured. "I'm rather done in."

"Like hell. I got about a dozen telegrams from the folks there, listin' all the damage you two managed."

"Paid for… most of it," Ezra slurred, slumping further.

"Where've you been all this time?"

A wave of the hand. "Around."

"Buck and Vin have been out lookin' for you."

Ezra licked his lips. "We came by an …unortho…unorthri…un…" He paused and blinked before trying the word again, "Unorthodox route."

Larabee's nose twitched as he caught scent of the whiskey. "Are you drunk?" His voice was incredulous. When Ezra snorted, Chris snatched him up by his lapels and jerked him to his feet, giving him a fierce shake. "Damn it, Ezra. What the hell do you think you're doing? Where's Josiah? Where'd you leave him?"

Ezra went limp in his hands, and Chris had to react fast to keep from dropping him.

"Let him be!" Sanchez snarled as he ran the final steps. He threw down the bags and pounced at the startled Larabee. "Let go of him!" Josiah ordered. Chris unquestioningly loosened his hold. Chris Larabee was a dangerous man, but Sanchez was as menacing as a grizzly bear when his ire was up.

Josiah took hold of Ezra as he blinked and tried to stand on his own. He wavered dangerously. Josiah carefully lowered a bewildered Standish back to the bench.

"I haven't been drinkin'," Ezra responded, sounding flustered, his voice thick and slurred. "Just a taste is all -- a taste. Didn't leave Josiah. Didn't leave him. Wouldn't…" His head lolled forward and Chris finally noted the bandage visible under his hat in the dimness.

"Ezra?" Chris squatted beside them, but Standish had finally succumbed. Larabee looked up to Josiah. "What happened?" His voice was concerned, lacking all the anger that had filled it a moment ago.

"Almost got himself killed by a rock," Josiah answered. "Let's get him to bed and find Nathan. Then I'll tell you every damnable thing that happened in South Bridge."

They carried Ezra to his room, stripped him out of his clothes and settled him into his feather bed. He responded feebly to their ministrations, murmuring quietly and offering them no real resistance, shivering from the chill that had caught him.

They buried Standish in blankets before Chris left to find Nathan. The healer arrived, tsking and clucking to himself as he removed the improvised bandages. The bleeding had stopped, but the wound had best be closed up properly.

"Damn it, Erza, what sort of trouble did you find this time?" Jackson murmured as he pulled out his stitching gear.

"Wasn't his fault," Josiah quickly defended. "None of it was." He sighed deeply and added, "He spent the whole trip watching out for me, and this is how he gets repaid."

Sanchez told the two of them everything he remembered, told them about their stay in South Bridge and all that happened on their journey in-between the two towns. They both nodded and remained silent most of the time. Neither disputed a word that was said. Josiah kept his eyes on Nathan's hands as he tended to the unconscious southerner.

Exhausted, Standish didn't move and barely reacted to Nathan's work. The healer gently patted him on the chest when he was done, smiling. "He'll be okay, I figure," he stated. "Gonna want to rest a few days. Probably have a headache for a while. I'm hopin' that his head's okay on the inside. When he wakes up again, we'll know more."

Josiah stayed at Ezra's bedside that night and was there when he woke up in the following evening. Ezra was confused, but in much better frame of mind than before.

"Mr. Sanchez, what happened?" he asked, wincing as his head throbbed. "Have we made it safely from South Bridge?" He glanced around his room, taking in the familiar sights. "Ah, home again," he sighed as he settled back into his pillows. "How nice." Ezra tried to sound relaxed, but a look of alarm flitted across his face as he came across the gaps in his memory.

"Yes, Ezra, we came home last night. You been sleepin' pretty deep since then,"

Ezra nodded and closed his eyes as he forced his hurting head to remember. His forehead creased as he asked, "Was there a dog somewhere, a black one?"

"Yes, that was Mia. She ate most of your dinner."

"Her owners…"

"The Gants."

"Ah yes. They were a pleasant group. And there were children and something involving a wagon wheel…"

"We stopped to fix the wheel along the way."

Ezra opened his eyes halfway and looked toward Josiah. "You, I recall, were the one who performed that task."

"You were busy, too."

"Hmmm," was Ezra's response. He squinted across the room, and then his eyes opened wide as he cried, "The Lamar brothers!"

Patiently, Josiah retold Ezra everything he could remember following their encounter with the unhappy brothers. Standish only nodded. He eventually recalled everything leading up to the strike on his head, but his memory of what followed was missing. It was probably for the best. Ezra seemed philosophical when Josiah once again explained that he had let the Lamars and their friends go. He nodded and said nothing in response.

Once he knew that Ezra was well, Josiah considered returning to South Bridge to mend the worst of his sins, but the others in his group let him know that this was not the wisest of plans. The telegrams they'd received had stated quite clearly that the citizens of that particular town never wanted to see Sanchez near their home again. He requested a list of damages and received a detailed summary of destruction: from the glasses broken in the Lucky Saloon, to the broken nose of one of the Lamar brothers; from the destroyed carriage, to the broken valve on the water tower, to the shattered mirror. And, not forgetting the torn awning, the road that had turned to mud in the flash flood, the damage done by certain overexcited sheep, and a bill from Doc Meer for services rendered throughout the community. It was an impressive list.

And to his relief, Josiah found that most of the damage had already been paid for, due to monies hastily shelled out by one Ezra Standish as they fled the scene. The Lamars had forgiven the offenses to their persons, so only a few debts remained. Josiah quickly paid what was left outstanding, and then went to Ezra to find out how much he owed.

Ezra, who had been forced to spend the day in bed, started off by saying that he was far too infirmed to worry about such a thing and his head hurt too badly to deal with numbers, but shortly after that, he'd drawn up a contract. His payment schedule, he said, was fair and the interest was not outrageous.

And so, the South Bridge adventure came to a close. Ezra was soon up on his feet again without a trace of the injury that had frightened Josiah so deeply. The only reminder of the experience was the debt that remained between them.

 

PART 2:

Josiah clutched $20 dollars in his hand. This would be the last of it. With this final payment the debt would be closed. Now, all he had to do was to find Ezra. He poked his head into the saloon first and didn't find Standish at his regular table. Chris, who was watching a pair of prisoners in the jail, hadn't seen him. When Sanchez stopped JD in the street, Dunne informed him that Ezra had taken Chaucer out behind the livery to put him through his paces.

Lord, Josiah thought, this could take all day. Ezra spent an inordinate amount of time with that horse – one might think it was human the way he indulged it. Sanchez had just started toward the corral when he found the object of his search coming toward him. Ezra was leading his gelding back toward the livery. The horse pranced as a small pack of children skipped alongside.

"How'd you get him to dance?" Paul Potter asked.

"First I taught him a simple square, then the dos-à-dos." Ezra said the phrase like a Cajun. "The Virginia reel followed. Once we mastered that, we moved on to the waltz. He's quite good at it, but he always wants to lead," Ezra responded, sounding completely serious.

"Did it take you long to teach him so much?" another boy asked, the son of one of the shopkeepers.

"A lifetime, Young Mister Green, it's taken a lifetime.'

"He sure is pretty," Katie Potter commented admiringly, stroking Chaucer's leg. The horse paused to allow himself to be adored. He nickered happily. Ezra stopped the procession, as they caressed the happy horse.

"I bet you've had him for a long long time," the youngest of the Juje children said.

"For nearly as long as you've been breathing on this earth," Ezra replied. "Now, I wish to thank you, my friends, for coming out today and providing an audience for Chaucer. He goes through his paces with more enthusiasm when he hears applause."

"It was fun," Billy Travis replied. "Thanks, Ezra."

"Thank you, Ezra!" the other children chimed. Starved for entertainment, the regular ‘exercises' of Chaucer had become as good as a traveling show to the children of Four Corners.

"I did little more than stand about. This magnificent animal is the one that did all the work," Ezra said, and indicated the horse proudly.

"Thank you, Chaucer," the small crowd stated and the horse nodded his head and snorted as they patted him. He bowed. They all laughed.

Josiah watched as Ezra spoke to the children. He seemed so at ease with them. It was a gift that few seemed to have, but Ezra somehow had mastered it. Children took to him like ducks to water. They seemed oblivious to his worst aspects and flocked to him. Perhaps they came because he was a showman. He talked to them -- never at them. He made them feel important. 

The children ate it up. But it was easy, wasn't it, to be good-natured to someone else's children, Josiah tried to rationalize. Ezra could play with them and then give them back when he was done. He didn't have to deal with them when they cried, when they misbehaved, or when they were unhappy or sullen. Playing with children was one thing – rearing them was something altogether different.

Yes, he's going about it the easy way, Josiah thought. But still, he couldn't help smiling when he noted the way the children looked at Ezra, and the way Standish treated the young ones.

Finally, Ezra said, "Now, run along. I'm certain your mothers will be searching you out shortly for your mid-day meal. I don't want to be under the consternation of any of them. Lord help me!"

"G'bye, Ezra. G'bye, Chaucer!" the children called as they headed off to their homes.

Ezra smiled as he watched them go. He leaned to his horse and muttered, "There goes the wealth of the world, my friend." The horse tried to knock off his hat.

That horse, Josiah thought, is the most troublesome creature I've ever seen. It always seemed to be harassing his owner in some manner or other. Ezra managed to catch his hat and shook his head at the horse. Most men would probably punish a horse for such ill behavior. Instead, Ezra pulled Chaucer's head close to his and said something quietly. The horse responded with a nicker and pressed closer to him. There was no mistaking the response of the horse -- it loved its owner to bits and pieces.

Ezra Standish was a conman and a gambler. He'd stolen, cheated and found his way through life by means of underhanded dealings. He was a man of dubious character. Yet, Josiah decided, any man that is so loved by both children and animals couldn't be all bad.

It was moments like this that he felt especially fond of Ezra, but the feeling was mixed with a strange melancholy. He could almost imagine Ezra as his son, could think of him as flesh-and-blood, heir to all the world had given him. Yes, Josiah thought, an educated, charming, good-natured son would have been exactly what he wanted. He could see himself as the gray-haired grandfather at a table surrounded by grandchildren with Ezra at the head, everyone laughing and talking and enjoying themselves. Ezra would spoil those children terribly.

Josiah smiled, imagining the scene. He could almost taste the pie that would inevitably be present.

Given a little work, Josiah decided, Standish might actually turn out to be a good man. He often looked at Ezra with almost fatherly care, but Ezra really wasn't someone Josiah should consider as a son, was he? No, there was too much gray area where the con artist was concerned. If Ezra were to give up some of his morally vague meanderings, perhaps he could become someone that Josiah would be proud of.

There already was someone that should have held his pride. Miguel, he thought -- his own flesh and blood -- his son. He'd wanted to be a father to that boy, but it just hadn't worked out.

Miguel had turned out to be a cur, crude and violent, drunken and without remorse. He'd died during the war. Died of his vices, or killed in a battle -- Josiah never could find clarification. Information considering the incident was vague and Sanchez never pursued the facts. Even now, a quiet pain would reach him at the thought of his dead son. Pain borne from deeds not done, from chances missed, from a child that turned out all wrong. And sometimes, even though he wished it were different, Josiah felt relief that the boy was gone.

He straightened and continued his way toward Ezra.

Ezra smiled warmly at his approach. "Mr. Sanchez," he greeted. "It appears that our afternoon will be favorable, in spite of the chilly weather."

"Yeah," Josiah agreed, even though the weather seemed fair to him. "Winter's finally comin'. Won't be long and snow will be flyin'."

"Lord help me," Ezra moaned. "I should've headed to Mexico by now. It'll be balmy there and save me from a possible bout of pneumonia. At least I should have traveled to the warmer climes of Georgia. Ah, my beloved home." He held his hand over his heart and then gave Josiah a wistful grin. "Of course, I could just as easily claim Louisiana, Texas, Mississippi, Carolina -- North or South, Virginia, parts of Florida and California, a section of Massachusetts, Kansas, New York…"

"Ezra," Josiah said, cutting him off because he knew the well-traveled man could go on for a while. "I have a bit of business to go over with you."

Ezra nodded, understanding what Josiah wanted to discuss. "I've just finished putting Chaucer through his exercises. He'll want his stall now and his supper. If you allow me to tend to him first, I can then devote my full attention to your finances."

"Won't take but a minute. I got the last $20 that I owe you." Josiah pulled the money from his pocket and smiled proudly, glad to finish the debt. He watched as Ezra's eyes fastened on the bills, noting the greedy look that flashed and disappeared.

Ezra looked away, becoming fascinated with straightening his horse's bridle. "Let it wait until I'm finished here. I can draw up a proper receipt and we can bring this entire transaction to a close."

Sanchez sighed. "I don't need a receipt, Ezra. Just want to give you the money."

Ezra laughed. "If you choose to ‘give' it to me, then by all means do so. Currency is the best gift – it's always a perfect fit and never out of style. If you mean to complete your payments, then please wait. I'll have the paperwork ready in a few minutes."

Josiah stood with the money in hand, a consternated look on his face. "Ezra, you just have to take the money and you can write out whatever you want later."

Ezra sighed as he started walking his horse into the stable. "Mr. Sanchez, I never enter such a business relationship without the proper paperwork to back it up. What would happen if I were to take the money as payment and then to later declare that you had given me nothing? You'd have no proof to back your claim and I could easily sue you for whatever I said was outstanding." He headed into the dimness. "Now, if you forgive me, Chaucer will require my complete attention. I'll see you shortly at our appointed meeting place."

 

PART 3:

Josiah moved through the saloon in a rush of indignation. He clomped through, yanked out a chair and thumped it to the ground before dropping into it.

Nathan raised an eyebrow. "Somethin' eatin' at you Josiah?"

"That damn pretentious fool!" Josiah growled, all his warm feelings vanished.

"Ezra?" Nathan surmised.

Josiah snatched the money from his pocket and dumped it on the table. "All I wanted to do was to pay him what I owed and he wouldn't take it from me. He needs to put up a big show and put me through signing my name to a note in front of everyone." Sanchez folded his arms over his chest. "Just to make me understand that I was indebted to him."

Vin chuckled. "I never knowed Ezra to hesitate to take money from a man."

Josiah's frown increased. "His excuse was that he might come back and claim I hadn't paid him if I didn't have a receipt."

Both Vin and Nathan laughed. "Yeah," Nathan agreed. "Sounds about right. Him and money are a powerful combination."

"Don't understand him," Josiah mumbled.

Nathan rolled his eyes. "You're not the only one."

Vin leaned forward. "I ‘spect he's run a con or two regardin' that very thing. Just lookin' out for you. Don't want you to get hoodwinked."

"Probably for the best that you get that receipt," Nathan put in. "Get it done in front of witnesses."

Josiah grunted in frustration.

"It's your own fault, ya know," Vin added quietly.

"Why's that?" Josiah responded defensively.

"He'd have let you wait ‘til you had it all together. Weren't gonna push you none." Vin shrugged. "But you were all fired up about payin' him in installments. Can't keep track of what you put in if you don't got a record of it."

Josiah pursed his lips. "I suppose you're right."

"He does seem pretty quick about writin' up contracts though," Nathan commented. "Seems he's always drawing up somethin' for someone."

"That's his ma's fault," Vin explained. "Word got out that he wrote one for her."

"Yeah," Nathan agreed. "Seems to know what he's doin' when he talks law." He laughed as he recalled a stunt they'd pulled together. "Sounds like a lawyer when he wants to. Folks in town see that."

"They take advantage of him sometimes," Vin added. "Seems they're always looking for him write up something and thinkin' they should get it for free. ‘Least he's smart enough to get his fee. Still, he didn't ask for my mark when I …ah…borrowed that money from him to pay off Nettie's place."

Nathan smiled. "So, is that why you never gave him that 10% interest?"

The tracker shrugged and gave the healer a sly look. "What 10%? Ain't no paper says it." He turned back to Josiah. "Askin' for that 10% of me was just his way of keepin' his pride. He couldn't let the money go without promise of more to come." He turned to Nathan and added, "He ever ask you for the money you borrowed to buy that Chinese girl?"

Nathan blushed for a moment and then shook his head with a small smile. "Josiah, he probably just wants to prove to you that he's doing good by you. Wants you to know he's not gonna cheat you." Jackson paused as Josiah considered this, then he added, "Now, of course, if he really wanted to do good by you, he wouldn't charge you interest."

"Hey, Josiah!" JD called as he pushed open the batwing doors with Buck close behind him. "Hi there, Vin, Nathan. Look what Buck saw."

Wilmington smiled as he strode to the table. "They been writin' about you in South Bridge again, Josiah." Buck held up the latest edition of the Clarion.

"What?" Josiah cried as his eyes fastened on the paper. The account of his ‘conquest' of South Bridge had been spelled out in lurid detail in the South Bridge Journal following his return to Four Corners. The sensational account made it seem as if one of the riders of the apocalypse had been visited upon them. Ezra had been pleased to note that his name never appeared in the story, except for an inclusion that ‘a companion of the man in question paid restitution for the damages before following Sanchez out of town.' The curious chain of events that allowed Sanchez to make his escape had been noted with a touch of awe and superstition.

Buck cleared his throat and read, "Dispatch from the South Bridge Journal: Sanchez captured and held for questioning in regard to local crime."

"Gee, Josiah, you been to South Bridge lately?" JD smiled as he and Buck sat down at the table.

"Can't say I have," Josiah pronounced.

"Well, you're off the hook, in any case," Buck declared. "Seems the man was using the name Miguel Sanchez, but his name is really Garcia. Says he's thirty years old or so, half-Mexican fella. Murdered one of the townsfolks last week. Gave him a knife between the ribs. His trial's set up for Tuesday. Hanging is scheduled for Friday."

Josiah's eyes widened. "Let me see," he requested softly and Buck handed over the sheet. He read the story silently, soaking in every detail, finding something familiar at every turn. Miguel, he thought, dear Lord, how could that be?

His eyes found the name written as ‘Miguel J. Garcia' later in the story. Dear God, oh dear God, it couldn't be. Miguel was dead -- he'd been told so years ago. But, he'd never been able to confirm that fact -- never knew for certain that the news was true. He always felt that maybe -- just maybe -- he was still alive.

Josiah stood up, filled with nervous energy, with fear, with excitement, with grief and joy. His son -- Miguel. My God, they were going to hang him!

"J'siah, somethin' wrong?" Vin asked worriedly.

"I have to send a telegram," Josiah muttered, and clenching the paper in his hand, he barreled out the door, just as Ezra came in.

"Mr. Sanchez," Ezra called as the man pushed past him, shoving him to the side. Ezra stumbled for a second before he was able to gain his balance. He looked confused as Josia continued on, apparently oblivious to the fact that he almost trampled him. Once the doors stopped swinging, he asked the men at the table. "Is somethin' amiss?"

"Dunno," Buck replied. "Took my paper with him. I paid for it. Hope to get it back."

"Somethin' bothered him powerful about that story," Vin informed Ezra. "Someone usin' the name Sanchez in South Bridge."

"Lord help us all," Ezra sighed as he set a ledger on the table and then carefully placed an inkstand beside it. "Sanchez and South Bridge -- it doesn't bode well."

 

PART 4:

Sanchez waited nervously outside the telegraph office. He'd sent a simple question to Sheriff Hughes of South Bridge: WHAT IS MIGUEL GARCIA'S MIDDLE NAME?' If the J stood for Josiah, then he'd know that this was his boy.

He watched as people came and went along the boardwalk. He'd been standing here for over an hour, waiting. Ezra had left the saloon, pausing and contemplating something before crossing the street. He headed to the jail, probably to relieve Chris from his shift.

Josiah waited, brushing the dust from his hat and gazing absently at the passing townspeople. Mrs. Underwood, a washerwoman, spoke to him and he answered her -- but after she walked away he couldn't recall what they'd discussed.

The door to the telegraph office opened and the operator leaned out. "Here's the answer," Mr. Juje said, extending a hand.

"Thanks, Winston," Josiah responded and opened the note. His eyes widened at the first word. "PAPA." It took a moment before he could read the rest. "IT'S BEEN A WHILE. COME SEE ME BEFORE I HANG. YOUR SON, MIGUEL."

He held the frail paper in his hand, feeling the cool wind blow against him, feeling a deeper chill fill him. Then, with a quick movement, he turned on the boardwalk and jogged to the jail.

He paused for a moment when he laid his hand on the door, looking in through the pane to see Ezra and Chris within. Ezra was pouring himself a cup of coffee and Chris was getting ready to leave. They were chatting quietly, their voices – but not the words -- distinguishable through the door. Suddenly, they both looked up and noted him at the window. Josiah sighed and stepped in.

"Chris," he began and paused. He dipped his head in embarrassment before he continued, "I have to take a few days for myself -- a week maybe."

"Kinda bad time for it," Chris responded. He nodded to the two prisoners. "Buck and Vin are gonna take these two to Eagle Bend tomorrow. Can it wait?"

"No, ‘fraid it won't. I want to leave within the hour." Josiah turned toward the door, not able to look at either of them. "It seems my … my son has been accused of murder and I want to see him before he's done away."

Josiah didn't see the reaction of the two men. When he turned toward them again, they both were gazing at him. Chris looked amazed, and Ezra had a placid and disinterested expression.

The prisoners chuckled and got a vicious glare from Larabee. They quieted immediately.

"I want to send a wire," Josiah went on. "Let him know I'm coming."

"A son?" Chris asked, his voice quiet.

"My boy, Miguel." He held up the newspaper that he'd confiscated from Buck.

Chris quickly read through the story and then handed the newspaper to Ezra who read it at a slower pace. "You sure it's him?" Larabee asked.

Josiah nodded and handed him the telegram. "I need to see him."

Larabee glanced at the wire, handed it to Ezra, and then consented, "You can go. But, I don't want you headed there on your own."

Josiah furrowed his brow and mulled this over for a moment. Finally, he bellowed, "I don't need anyone to watch me. This is my own business."

Chris wasn't swayed by the angry outburst. "If it wasn't South Bridge, I'd let you go in a minute, but you got a history there."

"You don't think I can take care of myself?" Josiah bit back. "I learned my lesson. It's not as if I can't go there without getting drunk and making myself a fool!"

I'm sure you can, Josiah." Chris nodded. "But, there's plenty of folks in that town that might do you harm if they could. Ezra's gonna go with you."

"Now, wait one moment!" Ezra put in as Josiah shouted, "No!" Standish looked stunned at this quick negation.

Josiah turned and faced the windows, trying to get his emotions in check. "I'm not taking him! I need to do this alone."

"Mr. Larabee, I must agree with Mr. Sanchez," Ezra added as he set down the papers. "He's a grown man who's more than capable of handling himself. I'm certain he will stay far from trouble on this excursion and won't need a shadow."

"Ezra knows what went on while you were there," Chris told Josiah. "He'll be able to keep you out of trouble."

"I don't need him," Josiah replied sharply.

Chris continued, facing Josiah, but watching Ezra out of the corner of his eye, "Plus, he'd know who was affected. If some fool stepped up and told you that you'd done somethin' to him, Ezra would be able to tell you if it was truth or not. There's no sense in you getting cheated by these people."

Ezra nodded, seeming to accept this fact, since money was involved. But Standish put in, "Nothin' ever goes well for me in South Bridge."

Chris smiled. "Way I hear it, things go rather smoothly for you in that town. It's only on the way home that you run into trouble. You get to be in charge in town, but Josiah's gonna mind you on the way back."

"Great," Ezra muttered and folded his arms across his chest. He smiled when he realized something. With a casual movement, he picked up his coffee cup and, looking smug, added, "My shift is about to begin. I won't be able to leave until nightfall, and by then..."

"I'll cover it." Chris grinned as Ezra groaned.

Josiah couldn't believe it. "No, I'll go alone."

"He's coming," was Chris' un-contradictable response. He nodded to Ezra. "Pack. I'll change his mind."

"Wonderful," Ezra muttered as he settled the still-full mug on the desk. He nodded to Chris and headed toward the door.

Josiah waited until the door shut before he spat out, "Chris, he's the last person in the world that I'd want with me!"

Chris glanced up, seeing Ezra just outside the door, his hand still touching the latch. The shout had been obviously heard. Ezra glanced at him through the window, and for a second he didn't seem to know what to do. Then he looked away and quickly headed toward the saloon.

"Damn it, Josiah!" Chris shouted. "Why the hell did you think that? He's the one that got you out of there last time. I thought you were glad to have him."

"It's not that. It's not that," Josiah sighed as he sat down. He buried his head in his hands as he whispered, "I just don't want him there when I meet my boy."

Chris watched Sanchez thoughtfully, remembering Josiah's anguish when they all thought Ezra had died on that trip from South Bridge with JD and Buck -- the sorrow he'd seen in Josiah's eyes seemed almost fatherly. He recalled how Josiah had sat at Ezra's bedside as he recovered from his head injury, refusing to leave him. Yes, he'd noted it and often wondered where, exactly, this situation would lead. Ezra never seemed very accepting of Josiah's actions, but never really pushed him away either.

One never really knew what was going on with Ezra Standish.

"Is it because he reminds you of your son?" Chris asked quietly.

Josiah's head shot up. "No! No, not at all." He shook his head, trying to explain, but couldn't. "I'm a bit confused is all. I thought Miguel was dead."

"But he's not," Chris returned.

Josiah wrung his hands. Lord, how could he explain this to Chris when he didn't understand it himself? His son, Miguel, was alive. His son, Miguel, was accused of murder and would probably hang in a few days. His son, Miguel, who had long been dead to him – was alive again, if only for a few days. His son, Miguel, whom he'd given up as a lost cause, whom he'd forfeited and forgotten about, was back and asking for him. His son was Miguel.

And then there was Ezra. Josiah had kidded himself into believing that he had some sort of paternal influence over Standish. He'd invented a fantasy where he could be a guide to the man, be something like a father to him. He'd enjoyed that feeling. But it was, after all, a fantasy. Ezra was not his. Worst of all, the charade might end now that Miguel's existence was revealed.

He drew in a breath and said, "I always wanted a son, someone that I could give everything to, bring up better than I'd been. I could make him a better person that I ever was -- someone I could be proud of."

"And you had Miguel…" Chris started.

Josiah nodded, his face serious. "I didn't find out about him until the child was five years old. I loved him, as deeply as any father. I would've kept him with me forever."

"But you didn't?" Chris continued to try and draw the halting story from the preacher.

Josiah shook his head in a quick jerk. "His mother and I could never be together. I left him. I should've found some way to stay, but instead, I left him to the world. Saw him only a few times as he grew. Then, I lost him. I thought he was dead." He sighed deeply. "I wanted a son. The one I had was…" he held up a hand, open palmed, and then let it drop. "He just didn't turn out like I'd planned."

"They don't, you know," Chris responded. "You can plan all you want, but kids are incredible things. They take in what you teach them, what you show them, and become their own people. They grow up and change and…" his voice grew quiet as his expression distant as he thought of another child.

"I know. Somehow, I guess, I figured I could just start again with Ezra. Maybe it'd turn out better with him. I thought I could mold him into what I wanted."

Chris smiled and laid a hand on Josiah's shoulder. "Somehow, I figure that Ezra wouldn't take to that sort of treatment. He ain't exactly the malleable type."

"You're right, you're right. I don't know why, but I got it into my mind that he needed a father, but I think maybe it's just that I needed a son." Josiah shook his head slowly. "The problem is, I already had a son, someone I should've taken care of from the beginning. Chris, I don't want them to meet up."

"You're not going to South Bridge without Ezra," Chris insisted. "We'll make this work. I'll talk to him. I'll get him to leave you alone at the jail."

"You won't tell him about all this?" Josiah spoke quickly.

"Not if I can't help it."

"He'd hate it if he knew," Josiah stated.

Chris nodded. "Yeah, you'd think a man would like a father in his life. Never can quite figure out that Standish though."

Josiah didn't respond, remembering the night Ezra had been hit in the head, remembering the following morning and Ezra's ranting as he'd been pulled from that hiding place between the rocks. He'd cried out against a father, his voice full of fear.

Josiah turned toward the door, wondering what, exactly, Ezra expected from a father.

 

PART 5:

Chris watched as Ezra prepared his saddle. It would be an overnight journey to South Bridge. It would be cold at night out on the desert -- autumn was ending. The horse shifted back and forth as he was loaded, obviously excited to be underway. A touch from Ezra stilled him.

"Ezra," Chris said and gestured the man toward him.

Ezra finished his work and headed to their leader. "Yes, sir," he replied, with a cocky grin. "I have packed as ordered, sir." He saluted smartly.

"Cut the crap, Ezra," Chris replied. "I need you to keep an eye on things in South Bridge."

"I know. I've already received that directive."

"And I need to you to leave Josiah alone when he sees his son. Just stay clear of him while he's visiting."

"Oh," Ezra took a few seconds before he continued. "I see."

"Needs some time alone. That's all. You understand."

"Yes, yes, of course." Ezra smiled tightly. "Any man would like to be with his own flesh-and-blood, I'd assume."

"Other than that, I need you to stay with him. Make sure those South Bridge folks let him be." Larabee fixed Ezra with a steady gaze and said, "He's havin' a tough time. You gotta give him some leeway in this."

"I'll do my duty," Ezra said with a formal bow. "But what about my duty here? With Buck and Vin gone, as well as Josiah and myself, you'll be rather shorthanded."

"JD, Nate and I can handle things for a few days. We're capable, I'd think."

Ezra looked about carefully, ensuring that no one was nearby. "It might take us some time to return, depending on whether the lad is declared guilty. It seems they're rather certain of his fate. If the boy is to hang…"

"Stay with Josiah. Don't leave him." Chris' gut clenched at the thought of the hanging. Lord, he hoped it didn't end that way. He couldn't even begin to imagine what it would be like for a man to watch his own son executed. An old pain reached him at that thought, his mind traveling back to his own son – Adam.

"And if Mr. Sanchez chooses to, perhaps, move outside the law and let his only child free?"

Chris stopped, unprepared for this question. But, the thought seemed quite possible -- a means of saving one's own blood. "Stay with him, Ezra. I need you to watch out for that fool preacher." Given the same circumstances, Larabee realized that he'd take desperate measures; he'd rather die in a shootout than to let something happen to his son. Josiah was another issue. Josiah was his responsibility. "If he wants to go into that jailhouse with guns blazing, I need you to hold him back."

Ezra laughed. "You overestimate me." He held out his hands. "I'm half his size. He'd flatten me with one sweep of his mighty paw."

"Damn it, Ezra, I doubt if anyone's ever overestimated you. Keep him from getting any new holes in himself."

"I shall do my best. And if he were to find some underhanded means to free the young man? If he were to ask the assistance of one who might find a way to emancipate him…?"

It was times like this that he was reminded how irritating Standish could be, asking questions that he'd prefer not to hear voiced. "If he rides with Garcia to Mexico, I want you to keep with them. You can get your ass back here once you see them safe. Drag Josiah along with you if you can, but don't leave him until you can be sure he'll be fine."

Ezra sighed and looked away again, searching the corners of the livery as if he expected intruders. "And what," he whispered, "Am I to do if the boy proves to be guilty of the crime and deserving of his fate? Am I still to see that he be loosed again upon this earth?"

Chris' face grew dark and he responded, "I will not allow Josiah to watch his son die. A man should never have to sit still to watch his own child suffer anything."

Ezra nodded, not looking terribly pleased.

"I'm counting on you, Ezra," Chris added. "I need you to keep Josiah safe. That's all I care about in the end. Watch out for him."

"So shall it be," Standish muttered.

And then, clapping a hand on Ezra's shoulder Chris added, "And keep yourself safe, too. Won't stand for hearin' you got yourself hurt again"

"As always, I do my best to protect my person." Ezra smiled. He breathed on his fingernails and buffed them against his jacket. "It'd be a shame to ruin such fine fabric with bullet holes."

"Yeah," Chris replied. "I don't want to hear anymore hair-raising stories about your trip home from South Bridge." He remembered clearly the incident where Ezra had spent days leading the Hollowell boys from JD -- 'doing his best to protect his person' -- like hell, Larabee thought. He smiled slightly. "I don't give a shit about the damn fabric."

Ezra pouted, "But this is an especially fine garment, designed to keep out the cold while looking striking on the proper form. It fits me astonishingly well." He modeled briefly, smiling at Larabee's scowl.

"Take care of him. Got it, Ezra?"

"Clearly, Mr. Larabee." Ezra saluted again, roguishly. "I give you my word. I will do my best to keep Mr. Sanchez from harm."

Josiah suddenly appeared in the doorway, his saddlebags slung over his shoulder, walking with a tread that dared anyone to get in his way.

"It looks like we'll be off," Ezra said. 

"Just get yourselves there and back," Chris told him. He watched as Ezra headed back toward his horse. "Both of you," he added vehemently.

 

PART 6:

They traveled in silence. Ezra glanced over to Josiah from time to time, but saw only a grim and determined expression. He decided to keep quiet, hoping that Josiah would relax in time, but it didn't seem to be happening. Apparently, this was going to be an inordinately dull excursion. To pass the time, he tried to recall the poetry he'd read a book he'd recently acquired. There was little of worth in the edition, just some over-blown sickly-sentimental hogwash mixed in with some nonsense by Edward Lear. He found it hard to draw any of the verse into his mind again. Well, it was all for the best.

Ezra yawned and pulled a deck of cards from his vest pocket and began shuffling it, flipping the cards in his hands. Sanchez didn't even seem to notice his actions. Josiah's eyes were fixed on the horizon, his forehead creased and his jaw set tight. Ezra fiddled with the deck for some time before he inserted it in his pocket again.

Finally, to dispel some of the unhappy energy, Ezra spoke. "Your boy," he said, "Must be excited to have this opportunity to see you."

"Hmm," Josiah responded.

"How long ago has it been since you've seen the lad?"

"Too damn long."

Ezra smiled thinly. "The child must count himself lucky to have such a father as you. I'd think…"

"Ezra, he's not a kid. He's as old as you!"

"Ah, so he's reached the perfect age." After a sideways glance, Ezra added, "You must have been rather young at his birth, a mere child yourself, seein' how young and vital you are now. I could hardly imagine that you'd be old enough to be my father."

"I don't want to talk about this, Ezra," Josiah snapped.

"Very well," Ezra said with a sigh. At least he'd gotten a conversation going. Perhaps the rest of the journey would be more enjoyable. "There's plenty else to discuss -- Our sleeping accommodations for one. It'll be nightfall in a few hours and we'll be comin' to a water hole soon. I think it'd be best if we were to set up our camp there and…"

"Do what you want," Josiah returned. "I'm gonna keep going."

"And end up in the middle of nowhere for the night? Truly, Josiah, we would be much more comfortable near the water. There's a nice stand of trees there to provide shelter and I've brought provisions for an agreeable repast. It'll be much more enjoyable than what we usually consume when Buck…"

"Ezra, they're going to kill my son. I only have a few days left with him. I'm not going to spend those scant hours biding by a waterhole with you, eatin' whatever it is you cook up. I aim to ride all night."

"You might last, but the horses won't. We'll need to rest them."

"I'll go ‘til the horse gives out." Josiah glared at Standish. "Maybe that circus animal of yours can't keep up."

Ezra continued to look unaffected. "Certainly you'll be exhausted by the time you reach that town and need immediate rest. Josiah, it'll make little difference in the long run if you sleep on the trail or when you get to South Bridge. Your son will still be there. It's not as if he has anywhere to go."

"You don't understand, Ezra." Josiah's voice was deep with anger. "He's my son. A father must take care of his son, must show him that he's the most important…" His voice trailed off and he rubbed his forehead, remembering all the times he'd failed Miguel. "A father should love his son, let him know he's loved. I've got to get to him -- got to talk to him."

"And you're doing exactly that. I'm only asking that you behave with some sense in the matter."

"Sense?"

"Be reasonable, Josiah. Mr. Larabee has asked that I keep an eye on you. There's no need to…"

"What right do you have to make decisions for me?" Josiah shot off. "He's my son! He's my blood, the most important thing in my life." He turned a meaningful glance on Standish. "Any father would do this!"

A smile tried to find its way to Ezra's face. He turned from Josiah and watched the trail ahead.

Josiah frowned at Ezra's lack of response and then shook his head sharply. "Larabee sent you along to dog me in town. The trail to South Bridge is my own. Do whatever the hell you want, Ezra. Sleep the day away if that's what's best for you. I've got somethin' worthwhile to do. I'll see you in South Bridge," he uttered and dug his heels into Prophet's sides and the big sorrel took off at a quick lope.

Ezra watched in hurt shock as Josiah rode on ahead. He never expected such behavior out of the kindhearted preacher. Chaucer snorted and pranced a few steps, eager to follow his friend, but Ezra kept him at his pace. At that moment, he didn't exactly feel like catching up to Josiah.

He rubbed Chaucer's neck and murmured, "He's worried about his son. It's understandable that he's a bit sharp in his comments." Yes, Ezra thought, a father should go to his son when he's in danger, should want to protect him. Ezra's hand was gentle on the horse's neck, as he continued to think. A father should accept the fact that his son is hopelessly imperfect and can never be as good as the man who proceeded him. Josiah, apparently, understood that.

"That's the way it should be," he said to Chaucer. "It's good that Josiah is rushing to his son." He watched as Josiah brought his horse back to its original pace, but didn't slow Prophet any further. Ezra didn't bring Chaucer to a quicker stride. "We'll give him a little space for now, since it's apparent that's his wish. Keep him in sight, my friend."

The two men traveled along the same trail, with a long space between them. 

What's keeping him? Josiah wondered. Certainly Ezra would come charging up to him any minute. Was Ezra angry with him? Why should he be angry anyway? It was Ezra that started it all with his irritating questions and comments. Ezra shouldn't be the one who was angry!

But why the hell am I so angry? Damn, Josiah thought as he watched the trail ahead. How did he let Ezra get to him like that? Just a few simple questions and he was snapping at him. He shouldn't have done that -- he should have just answered or told him to stop. There was no cause for becoming so abrupt. No wonder Ezra was hanging back. Probably doesn't want to be attacked again, especially after...

Ah, damn. He rubbed his forehead, upset with himself. Why did he bring up Ezra's father just then?

They traveled onward, each alone on the trail; the space between them remained the same.

Eventually, Josiah turned in his saddle, and saw how far back Ezra was riding. He groaned inwardly and pulled Prophet to a halt. He hoped to see Ezra hurry toward him, but Chaucer never changed his gait. At least he didn't stop. Josiah wanted to shout out, to call out cheerfully and encouragingly, but couldn't find his voice.

Finally, Ezra closed the distance and reached him.

"I'm sorry, Ezra," Josiah said genuinely. "It wasn't right for me to lash out like that. My mind is…"

"Don't let it bother you, Mr. Sanchez. Your reactions are reasonable when you consider the circumstances," Ezra said as Chaucer clipped past them. His voice was even and calm. He smiled, but didn't look at Josiah. "I'll be more than capable of continuing through the night with you. Now we'd best make up some time if we mean to ride our mounts to death tonight."

Josiah sighed. "We'll rest them at the waterhole before we go on." He encouraged Prophet and caught up to Ezra.

"An excellent idea," Ezra responded and did not turn toward him as they came astride one another.

"I didn't mean anything by what I said," Josiah tried.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Sanchez."

"I'm sorry." Josiah wanted to reach out a hand and lay it on Ezra's arm, but didn't think he could handle having it shrugged away.

"No need to apologize, Mr. Sanchez. You've done nothing wrong. You're distressed and I pressed you. It's I that should be begging forgiveness. I apologize for my uncouth behavior. I'll do my best to remain innocuous for the rest of this trip and not bother you again. I've given my word to Mr. Larabee and won't leave you. Set the pace as you see fit."

They traveled the rest of the way to the waterhole in silence.

 

PART 7:

The quiet little oasis came into view as the day grew longer. The gambler and the preacher rode on in silence. Josiah realized that he should speak just to start an easy conversation again, but couldn't come up with anything to say. Ezra had kept his promise and remained inoffensive, not saying a word. The silence grew oppressive as the waterhole drew nearer. Josiah kept his eye on the approaching trees, hoping he'd find reason to speak when they'd reached the water.

They were nearly there when Ezra suddenly reined in his horse. "Someone's already there," he said matter-of-factly.

Josiah watched as a figure moved among the trees. His eyes picked out a horse near the water and the glint of gunmetal.

"Who's that?" a harsh voice called. "Who's that comin'?"

"Don't mean no harm,' Josiah shouted back, raising his hands to show that he had no violent intentions. "Just passing through. Need to water the horses and we'll be gone."

Ezra said nothing, but flipped back his jacket for easy access to his weapons.

A sharp laugh cut the air, quick -- like the bark of a fox, and a large man stood clear of the trees.

"Who's with you, old man?" the stranger asked as he set the butt of his rifle on the ground.

Josiah squinted across the distance, taking in the familiar shape and voice. He sat stock-still in his saddle as the realization hit him. Dear Lord, he thought, dear God in Heaven. The man was bigger than the last time he'd seen him, his voice was deeper, but there was no mistaking the man he was greeting. 

"Miguel," Sanchez gasped and kicked Prophet into a gallop to close the distance.

Josiah slowed as he approached his son, drinking in his appearance. The boy had changed. Gone was the filthy, drunken haze that had surrounded him at their last meeting. The man that greeted him was neatly dressed, clean-shaven and smiling. "Papa!" he greeted as the horse and rider drew near. Miguel spread his arms wide, the rifle held harmlessly by the barrel.

Josiah couldn't speak immediately, he could only gaze at the boy, seeing pieces of himself in his form, remembering Miguel's mother, Amelia, by the shape of his face. "Miguel," he finally uttered. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you," Garcia replied, looking up at the rider. "God, it's good to see you, Papa." Garcia gently grabbed hold of Prophet's bridle. "Come on down. Rest yourself."

Almost without thinking, Josiah dismounted and then he found himself in a warm embrace as his son wrapped his great arms around him. "I've been waiting so long," Miguel whispered.

"Me, too," Josiah replied as tears came to his eyes. "Me, too."

"I heard you were dead," Miguel said with an undisguised sob. "Years ago, I heard you'd died."

"Oh God," Josiah murmured. "I'd heard the same. I would've come lookin' for you if I'd only known."

Miguel laughed and Josiah laughed with him. They slapped each other's backs and stepped back, grinning at each other like fools. Josiah's gaze took in the young man. Miguel had grown taller and broader, bigger than his father now. His skin showed the scars of a dozen fights, his nose wasn't quite centered on his face, but his eyes were clear and sharp once more.

"What happened?" Josiah demanded. "How did you get here? What about the trial?"

Miguel shook his head woefully. "I'll tell you everything, but first, who's this?" He nodded in the direction Josiah had come.

Josiah turned quickly. He'd almost forgotten Ezra was there. Standish held back a few lengths, still seated on his horse, his coat still thrown back. He watched the scene warily.

"Ezra," Josiah called. "Ezra -- my son, Miguel Garcia. Miguel, this is…"

"Ezra Sands," Ezra got in.

Miguel stepped quickly toward the rider and extended a hand. "‘Ey," Garcia greeted. "Glad t'meet ya." His complexion was dark, but he spoke with an easy western accent.

Ezra smiled congenially and shook the offered hand. "Good day to you," he returned. "Garcia? Not Sanchez?"

Miguel shrugged. "I use Sanchez sometimes, but it was my mother who raised me."

"Ah yes," Ezra said knowingly. "It must have been an interesting upbringing." And then, after changing his position in the saddle, he added, "Perhaps you can enlighten us on why you are here and not in your jail cell?"

Miguel grinned. "Come on down. Rest your horses and I'll tell you all about it." And he started back into the trees.

Josiah stepped toward Ezra and his horse. "Ezra," Josiah hissed under his breath. "No need to hide your name. I don't want to lie to him. He's my son."

"And an escaped criminal. We'd best be cautious."

Josiah nodded. "I know, but…" he trailed off, his voice growing softer, his eyes turning from Ezra and drifting toward his son. "I'm gonna hold off judgment until I hear his story," Sanchez declared.

"Is that wise?" Ezra asked as he dismounted.

Josiah waited a moment before answering. "It wasn't so long ago that I was held in a cell, declared a murderer while I was innocent. I could‘ve used someone believing in me then." His gaze returned to Ezra, fixing him with a pointed look.

Ezra smiled disarmingly as he dismounted. "But you had Vin," he said as he patted his horse. "And my beliefs in the situation never came into play."

Josiah turned toward his son again, speaking in a low voice to Standish, "And, Ezra, don't tell me that you were never in a similar situation. Were you ever accused of a crime you didn't commit?"

"Why, Mr. Sanchez, constantly." Ezra scratched his chin thoughtfully and added, "But, I was guilty of most things so…"

Josiah frowned unhappily. "You'd want someone to believe in your innocence, wouldn't you?" He shook his head as he remembered something. "You told me once that no one trusted you and you couldn't understand why. This is part of it, Ezra. If you want others to trust you in, you've gotta start by believing in others."

"I recall the incident quite clearly, Mr. Sanchez," Ezra replied. "And if you recall the outcome, and I was as guilty as your words implied."

Josiah sighed deeply and then extended an arm, resting it on Ezra's shoulder. "Please, Ezra, give him a fair shake. Let's listen to him. Let's find out what's happened before we make any judgments. It's only right."

"Very well," Ezra said, his lip twitching ever so slightly.

Josiah smiled broadly, patting Ezra's shoulder before turning abruptly, and jogging toward his son.

As he led his horse toward the pond, Ezra kept a sharp eye on Miguel.

"Can't stay here long," Miguel said when he reached the little spring. "Gotta be headed south soon. When I got your second telegram, I figured I could come out this way and meet you b'fore I headed to Mexico. Never would‘ve thought you were livin' out here. Figured you'd be in India or Europe, back East maybe."

"I thought you said that you believed he'd died," Ezra put in quietly.

Miguel laughed. "I meant, if he were alive, that's where he'd be." He shook his head, watching Ezra who met his gaze with sharp eyes.

"Tell me," Josiah demanded. "Tell me what happened in South Bridge."

Miguel nodded. "‘Spect I should." He sighed. "I saw a fella knife another guy in a saloon. The killer was a fancy dresser like this one." He indicated Ezra, who glanced up at him levelly. "Smart talker, rich-lookin' fella who probably never had a day of trouble in his life. Never had to suffer no ills. When I tried to tell the law what happened, the bastard turned it around and told everyone that it was me that done it. Me! It got down to his word against mine." Miguel furrowed his brow. "And who's the sheriff gonna believe when listening to a man like me and a fancy-man like him? It's ones like him that are believed." His gesture toward Ezra was contemptuous.

Ezra smiled and shook his head, revealing nothing. "And there was no suspicion placed on this ‘fancy man'?"

"I was the one with blood on my hands," Miguel bit back. "I'm the one who tried to save that fella. That fancy man left right quick. Took a damn bath to clean himself before he went to the sheriff. A bath! Said it was because he was so nervous about the killin' that he needed to calm himself." Miguel spat and then continued. "If I'd done the same, they'd say it was proof against me. I tried to save a dying man while the killer was taken a damn bath. I'll get hung for it."

"I know I enjoy the calming influences of a bath, and watching a man cruelly gutted might be reason enough to require that tranquilizing sensation."

Garcia glared at Ezra, and Josiah quickly stepped in. "You should've stayed, son," he put in. "Judge Travis is a good man. He would've listened to you, would've weighed the evidence and given a fair trial."

"I admit that I've done some bad in my life," Garcia continued spitefully, "but it's behind me now. Problem is, I can't shake this black cloud. I've been doubted and blamed all my life, watching folks like him take what should've been mine. Ain't no fairness in it."

"True," Ezra responded. "Not much in life is fair. What makes us men is how we decide to deal with the unfairness."

"Miguel, what happened?" Josiah pleaded, trying to get back to the events that proceeded their meeting. "How'd you escape?"

"Got a friend," he replied. "Distracted the sheriff enough so that I could get out. We tied Hughes and gagged him in the cell."

"Where is this friend now?" Ezra asked.

"Halfway to Mexico. Went south straight off, hopin' that if a posse followed, they'd take that path. They shouldn't find the sheriff ‘til mornin' anyhow, seein' as he won't get relieved ‘til then. That gave me time to come find you and say, ‘adios, Papa'."

"Goodbye?" Josiah echoed. "I'll never see you again?"

Miguel shrugged hopelessly. "This isn't gonna go away. Have to leave the country if I want to keep my life. Gonna meet up with my partner."

Josiah slumped as he placed a hand on his son's shoulder. To have found Miguel again and to lose him once more was almost more than he could bear. Innocent or guilty, Josiah couldn't let his son be hung. "I'll go with you," he finally said.

"Mr. Sanchez," Ezra said urgently. "Let's discuss…"

"Papa!" Miguel declared, wrapping his big arms around his father's neck. "I prayed you'd come with me. It was all I wanted!"

"Josiah!" Ezra called, his eyes fierce. "Think this over!"

"It's what I want to do, Ezra," Josiah responded calmly. "I need to be with my son." Josiah had abandoned his child before, left him to make his way alone. He wouldn't turn his back this time.

Ezra worked his jaw, watching the two embrace. "Mr. Sanchez, I must insist that we discuss this situation before you make any hasty decisions."

"I believe him, Ezra!" Damn, Sanchez thought -- I want to believe.

Miguel stepped back from his father and looked at Ezra. "His decision is made, Sands. Once it's dark, we'll go. We'll follow the Banyon River and find my partner when we reach the border. Papa, I could use your help."

"I'll go," Josiah pledged.

"Josiah, I insist," Ezra repeated. "Please, I request a moment only."

Sanchez turned to face Standish. "You'll tell Chris that I'm sorry about what happened. Tell him that I'll come back when I can. I just gotta see my boy to safety. Gotta see him through this. I need to be there for him this time. Chris will understand."

"Understand? Do you honestly think he'll understand this?"

"He will. I know he will."

"Oh, he'll understand that you'd behave irrationally. What he won't understand is that I didn't give you counsel before you took this action."

"I won't be swayed, Ezra. Now, go!"

"Wait," Garcia declared. "Sands can't leave."

"I need him to deliver the message," Josiah responded. "He's gotta make sure I get this straight with someone."

"He can't leave," Miguel repeated.

Ezra sighed. "Your son is afraid I'll reveal everything, Mr. Sanchez. He believes that if I were left to my own devices, then his life would be at risk."

"Ezra'll swear to keep this secret," Josiah declared. "You won't tell a soul, will you, Ezra? Won't let anyone know where we've gone."

Ezra raised and dropped his hands futilely. "How am I to tell Mr. Larabee that you've accompanied your escaped son to Mexico if I cannot tell him that you've accompanied your escaped son to Mexico? Am I just to tell Mr. Larabee that I turned back and left you to your own devices after promising him that I'd look after you? My life, for what it's worth, wouldn't last long in Four Corners if I did this. If you go, I'll go with you."

Miguel barked out a laugh again. "Can we trust him? He looks like the type that'd turn like a snake given the chance."

Josiah fixed an eye on Standish. "I can trust him," Josiah responded. Ezra cocked his head.

Garcia shook his head. "If you trust him, Papa, so will I. Come with us, Sands."

Ezra smiled, and followed.

 

PART 8:

Father and son rode side by side as they made their way to Mexico. Josiah kept his gaze on his son, looking at him in disbelief. He could see himself in the man -- in the way he rode, in the way he glanced about but kept his eye on his goal. It felt so good – so right to be riding beside him. They fit together, father and son.

The sodden ruffian who he'd last seen almost ten years ago was gone, and replaced with a young man that resembled Josiah Sanchez. Josiah had seen trouble in his own past, had escaped injustice himself. Josiah glanced across at his son, knowing how the young man must feel, accused of a murder that he didn't commit, and, in his heart, he was glad that Miguel was able to escape.

He smiled fondly at the young man, wistful about the lost years, but hopeful now. Perhaps, even in this exile, he might be able to know his son now, to be part of his life -- finally. He would work for it this time – he wouldn't just let the boy slip through his fingers.

Miguel called him ‘papa'. It had been so many years since anyone spoke that name to him. It was music to hear it again.

Garcia glanced over his shoulder and frowned. "Sands," he called. "Why you ridin' so far back? Maybe you should be ‘long side."

Josiah turned, and noted Ezra's position behind them.

"Simply watching our backs, Mr. Garcia," Ezra responded. "One must be careful when one is being pursued by the law. This is open country and our passage will be noted from miles around."

"It'd be best if you come ‘long side," Garcia repeated. "It's getting dark now. Don't need to watch behind anymore."

"Come on, Ezra," Josiah said with a sigh, gesturing Ezra to his side, but he rode up to the far side of Miguel instead.

"As you wish," Ezra responded, smiling congenially at Miguel.

Miguel snorted as he sized up the well-dressed man. "You know my papa? You a friend of his?"

"A friend, yes."

"How'd you get to know him?"

"We both abide at the same locale. "

"So you just decided to come with him when he went to meet up with his lost son?"

"I understood that he wished to journey to South Bridge and it was decided that traveling together might be of benefit."

"You know him well?"

Ezra lowered his head and looked discretely toward Sanchez. "It is difficult to truly know anyone."

Miguel chuckled. "Yeah, but you been around him a lot? How long you know him for?"

"I made his acquaintance about a year and a half ago."

"He speak often of me?" Miguel asked.

Josiah's face must have shown his emotions. Ezra glanced at him, then responded, "When he speaks of you, it was always with a paternal partiality."

Miguel barked out a laugh again and looked to his father. "I've told my partner about you, Papa. Talked a lot about you. We'll meet soon."

"I await the moment in breathless anticipation," Ezra responded.

Again, Miguel laughed. "So tell me, Sands. What does my papa do in Four Corners?"

"He spends much of his time in construction."

"And you?"

"I gamble."

"That right, papa?" Miguel asked, turning toward him. "You a builder?"

Josiah kept silent a moment, not knowing what would be best. What should he say? Agree with Ezra's half-truth? It really wasn't a lie. It would be easy to just go along.

Yes, it might be a bad idea to tell this escaped suspect that they were lawmen. But, could he just hide this fact? He mulled this over, realizing that he couldn't let his son be misled any longer. He'd spent too much of his life without his son. There'd be no more lies – no more half-truths, no more hiding. He wanted to keep Miguel with him from now on – so he'd best tell him the truth about everything.

"We're part of regulators that protect Four Corners," Josiah finally added.

He saw Ezra roll his eyes in exasperation as Miguel shot him a startled look. Garcia reined in his horse. "You're a lawman?"

"We protect the town."

Miguel looked between them, realizing that they had him flanked. "Why? I told you I was innocent? You're gonna bring me in? You're gonna see me hang?" His horse danced backward. Miguel's eyes were wide with alarm.

"No, I swear, son," Josiah shouted. "I only wanted to be here with you. I won't let them take you. I aim to protect you!" Prophet wheeled about dangerously as Miguel's horse minced anxiously. Josiah's hands jerked as he tried to catch his balance.

"You're a lawman?" Garcia questioned again, his voice rising in panic and rage. His hand went to his gun. "You won't be takin' me in."

"No!" Josiah shouted, throwing his arms up.

At Josiah's quick gesture, Miguel's gun came clear of his holster. Prophet reared, feeling the tension in his owner, feeling the panic from Miguel.

"Miguel, no!" Josiah shouted.

"I won't be brought in, old man," Miguel said between his teeth as he aimed at Josiah's chest.

A shot split the air. Garcia cried out in pain as the old revolver flew from his hand. His other hand few to his shoulder. His horse turned around as Miguel sagged for a moment, clutching his bleeding arm. He turned toward Ezra, seeing the Remington aimed at his head.

"Stand down!" Standish ordered, his eyes intense as he held the weapon on Garcia. "Stand down!"

Miguel's horse wheeled again and Josiah's eyes went wide as he saw his son's hand go for his other gun, unseen by Ezra. When the horse came about once more another shot was fired.

Ezra jerked, struggled for a moment to keep his seat. The gun fell from his hand and then he collapsed from his horse and onto the ground.

 

PART 9:

"Ezra!" Josiah shouted and was off his horse in a second, and attempted to get around Miguel's agitated roan.

"Stop, Sanchez!" Miguel ordered, "Stop!"

In the growing dark, he could see Ezra was curled on his side beside the Chaucer, his hand pressed to his side, muttering a constant stream of, "Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn!"

"Ezra! Are you all right? Ezra?"

Ezra gave no sign of hearing, as he continued to curse at the dirt, as Miguel kept them separated, as Chaucer started mincing around in agitation.

"Get away, Sanchez!" Miguel ordered again, clutching at his wounded shoulder as he held the gun on his father. "Hand over your weapons!" he ordered. "Hand them over, now!"

Sanchez ignored him, and finally managed to get around Miguel's horse and reached for Chaucer's reins to draw him away from Ezra. Chaucer jerked away, snorting and stamping, his hooves coming dangerously close to Ezra's head. "Quiet, horse, quiet!" Josiah tried to soothe, but Chaucer would have nothing to do with it.

A gun fired, freezing Josiah. He spun to face his son. 

"Give me your guns!" Miguel ordered as he aimed his weapon at his father. "Now! Quick!"

"Let me help him," Josiah pleaded as he unquestioningly pulled his weapon from its holsters. "Please." He handed the gun, butt first, to his son. Miguel had to pull his hand from his bleeding arm to accept the gun. He tossed it quickly into his waiting saddlebag. Ezra gasped in the dirt beside his horse who snorted and continued to stamp menacingly.

"Please," Josiah tried again.

"Your rifle," Miguel added, nodding to Prophet. "Now."

Josiah threw Garcia a furious glance and then strode quickly to his horse and he pulled the weapon from its sheath and then removed his saddlebags.

"Leave those bags," Miguel ordered from his seat atop his horse when Josiah handed him the rifle. 

Ezra still struggled to sit up, breathing harshly. Chaucer wouldn't stop moving. 

"Lay still! I'm comin', Ezra!" Josiah assured, hoping to God that horse calmed down. He turned to his son. "I need the bags. They've got bandages to fix him up. That's all I need," he declared. "Let me help him. Please!"

Miguel gestured for the bag and Josiah gave it up to him. Garcia went through it quickly and yanked the cloths from it, throwing them to his father. "Get me his guns. Now! Then you can patch him up." He rooted through the bags for a moment, withdrawing a hunting knife, stowing it with the guns. Josiah's searched bags were thrown toward Prophet.

Josiah clutched the bandages to his chest and turned toward Ezra again. Chaucer glared at him balefully and stamped down a hoof again. He made a noise low in his throat, that didn't bode well.

Garcia laughed. And Ezra looked up at his faithful steed. "Behave," he said softly. Chaucer snorted again, and lowered his head to sniff at his owner. 

Josiah was beside him by then. Ezra's right side was stained with blood. He held his derringer ready against his palm.

"Ezra, I'm here now," Josiah said, as he pulled off his jacket and folded it loosely before placing it under Ezra's head. "You're gonna be all right," he guaranteed as he laid one hand on Ezra's shoulder. 

"The guns, old man. Give me his weapons," Miguel's voice came out of the growing darkness. "Now, or I'll put another hole in him." The gunman changed his aim, trying to find a target, but Chaucer was in the way.

Ezra blinked at Josiah and sighed as Sanchez took the derringer from his hand, the Colt Richard's Conversion from his shoulder harness and the Remington from the ground. When he pulled the Revolving Rifle from its scabbard on Chaucer's saddle, the animal gave an unhappy grunt. Josiah hurried to his son, handing over the armament.

Miguel whistled as he looked over the weapons. "Nice stuff, fancy man," he murmured. "I ain't seen the like of these…"Josiah didn't wait, returning quickly to Ezra's side.

"Ezra, you hear me?" Josiah asked softly.

"Every word," Ezra replied, blinking constantly, his hands held to his side. "Forgive me for my lack of response earlier." He sucked in a breath. "I was a bit distracted and…found conversation difficult. I was…"

"Keep it that way," Josiah cut him off. "Don't talk."

Ezra smiled. "A difficult order to follow. You know how I appreciate a good conversation."

"Try it for a change," Josiah told him, and then added in a softer voice, "Let me see." He lifted away Ezra's hands and pulled back the ruined jacket. The vest and shirt below were wet with blood. He undid Ezra's shoulder harness, and then struggled with the blood-soaked cloth and the buttons. "Gonna get all this out of the way," Josiah explained softly. "Then see what we have to do."

"It's not so bad," Ezra said quietly, his voice almost dreamlike. "Skinned me I think. Hurts like the devil." He panted as the material was pulled from the wound. 

"Shhhh, shhh," Josiah soothed as he worked. "Gonna be done with this soon." He winced in sympathy as he saw the nasty path the bullet had taken, carving out a channel along Ezra's side. Not a mortal wound, not terribly deep, but painful as all hell. He hoped Ezra had a sewing kit in his bags; this would definitely need stitching.

Ezra lifted his head and scowled as he saw the damage. "Good Lord, I've been striped like a tiger!" Ezra exclaimed before Josiah pushed his head down against the folded jacket.

"Lay still, son," Josiah said softly. "Won't do you any good to move around right now." He picked up one of the bandages and pressed it against the bleeding wound, keeping his other hand against Ezra's head. He heard Standish inhale slowly, but he made no further sound. He watched as Ezra flexed his hands, grasping at his jacket. "Almost done, Ezra," he murmured. 

"Did I kill him?" Josiah heard Miguel's indifferent voice behind him.

"No," Josiah answered quickly, holding his weight on the wound. "He ain't gonna die."

"Not today," Ezra gasped.

Josiah pulled back the cloth, and asked, "You have that flask with you?"

Ezra nodded minimally, and fumbled with his pocket until he pulled the pretty silver flask from its hiding place. "It'd be a shame to waste it all." He licked his lips. "Do you suppose there's some to spare?"

Josiah nodded and watched as Ezra gulped down a few mouthfuls of the expensive liquor. He paused and drank again before lifting the flask to Josiah. "Perhaps you would like to…?" he started, raising his eyes to meet Josiah's.

Josiah carefully took the flask from Ezra, wrapping one warm hand around Ezra's cold one. "If there's something left when we're done, I'll have a swallow. You bring your sewing kit?"

Ezra chucked softly. "How could I be without it? It seems that I'm always tearing something. Usually it's only cloth." He lifted a hand and dropped it. "It's in Chaucer's left saddlebag, in one of the … pouches along the back. I think I still have white thread. I'm afraid there's no beige." His eyes wandered for a second and then connected to Josiah's again. "I hope your stitching is as neat as Mr. Jackson's. Lord help me if you sew like my mother."

"She's a magnificent woman," Josiah said as Ezra pulled his hand free of Josiah's grasp. "Any man would be happy to be in her company."

"You'd best keep clear of her, sir. She'll be nothing but trouble to you." Ezra sighed deeply again. "Why, I recall…"his voice was growing softer.

"I need you to lay still for a bit, son," Josiah stopped him. "No more talking."

Ezra nodded and pressed his head against his pillow. Through Chaucer's legs, he kept his eyes on Miguel. Garcia watched in avid fascination, his hand again clutching his bleeding arm.

 

PART 10:

Josiah sat beside his son and carefully tied a bandage in place. Against his ribs Josiah could feel the awful pressure of Miguel's revolver. Garcia's eyes followed his every movement.

"You ‘bout done, papa?" Miguel asked, his voice more congenial than his actions.

Josiah nodded sharply. "Done," he said dully and stepped back. The gun was pulled from his side, but it remained pointed in his direction. 

"Good," the young man said, looking down at his father's handiwork. "Took long enough. I figure it'll have to do the job." Garcia now had the silver flask in his pocket, along with Ezra's pocket watch, his ruby ring and Josiah's $20. Josiah himself had stripped Ezra of his most valuable possessions, not bothering to check the gambler's boots. No, he thought, let the secret vault go untested. Ezra did nothing as Josiah took the requested items -- watching with a detached expression.

"We'll be goin' then. We've been here for too long as it is," Miguel said. "Horses have had their rest."

Josiah looked up in shock. "We're staying," he stated firmly. "Ezra and I aren't going any further with you." He gestured toward Ezra who was resting where Josiah had left him, his torso tied up in a bandage. It was too dark to see him clearly, but Sanchez was sure that Ezra was watching them.

"I ain't gonna leave a couple of lawmen on the loose," Miguel responded.

"We weren't gonna turn you in, Miguel," Josiah shot back. Only the presence of the gun kept him from advancing.

"You're lawmen."

"I'm your father! I told you, I would ride with you to Mexico! I wanted to be with you, boy! I was willing to go wherever you wanted."

"Not him," Miguel gestured to where Ezra was resting in the dark. "That one wanted me dead. He shot me!" Miguel added incredulously, touching his newly bandaged arm. The wound was little more than a graze, meant to disarm -- but not kill or seriously hurt. Josiah had trouble believing that Garcia had meant the same for Ezra. Ezra's wound came damn close to being a gut shot.

"You were about to commit patricide," Ezra's voice came out of the darkness. "I couldn't allow that. I'd made a promise."

Miguel snorted. "Alright then," he muttered. "Get up if you can and we'll get out of here." He strode toward Ezra in the low light of the moon. 

Garcia stood beside Standish and stared at him, his gun held at his side, ready to be used in an instant. He was silent as he observed. Neither moved.

Ezra returned the gaze indifferently. Finally, he spoke, "Might I ask, what about me holds such interest?"

Miguel looked over his shoulder and asked his father, "Is he another one?"

"Another what?" Josiah asked, moving close and trying to keep his voice in check.

"Another one of your bastards?" Miguel growled. "Is this one that you actually cared about? Is this one that did everything right? Was this the good one? Is this the one you wanted?"

Josiah drew in a deep breath, wanting to say so much, but not knowing where to start.

"I assure you," Ezra answered instead. "There's no blood between us… except for…" In the dark, he fingered his reddened jacket. "Your father is an exemplary man, a man of honor. You should count yourself blessed to have him."

"Blessed? Ain't nothing that would bless me," Miguel returned spitefully. "I've never had a decent break. All my life people 'ave been giving me the worst of everything. All my life I've fought for the little bits I got. You! I bet you've never wanted for nothing."

Ezra blinked at Garcia and then smiled. "One must learn that desires are seldom achieved, that what we want most in the world is often entirely out of reach."

"Tell me, have you ever been hungry? Have you ever had to work for anything in your life?" Miguel's voice raised in anger, and Josiah stepped closer, ready to grab hold of him in spite of the gun. "Have you ever had your feet kicked out from under you? You ever get the idea that not a soul in the world gave a damn if you lived or died? You ever see a world where nobody wanted you?"

Ezra sighed. "Mr. Garcia," he said finally. "I see you've had a difficult life -- one that I, most likely, cannot begin to fathom."

"Damn right! My life has been hell from start to finish! Never had the luck of someone like you."

"Luck," Ezra responded as he tried to lever himself upright. "Is not to be counted on."

"Gambler!" Miguel returned. "Thought you and your type were about nothing but luck."

Standish gasped as his newly stitched side pulled badly.

"Stay still, Ezra," Josiah insisted, kneeling beside him again.

"A gambler must trust in his abilities, must know his opponents, must judge correctly the outcome. To count on luck is to encourage failure. A gambler takes responsibility for his part in the game -- win or lose, it's due to one's own skills, one's own choices and decisions. There is no luck." Ezra grasped hold of Josiah and used him to try to stand. "A gambler who cannot maintain control of his own game had best take up another pastime."

"Ezra! Stay still!" Josiah ordered, wanting to press Standish back to the ground, but not wanting to hurt him in the process.

"Besides," Ezra paused to suck in his breath. "I abhor gambling and…"

"Quit bein' such a stubborn fool!" Josiah demanded. "Are you tryin' to kill yourself?"

"Me? No. Tell me, what will you do to us, Mr. Garcia, if we don't leave immediately?" Ezra asked as he gained his feet.

Miguel smirked. "Kill you." He nodded to Josiah. "I'd like to keep papa with me."

"And if I come along as your prisoner? Would I live?"

Another barked laugh. "I'll let ya go when we make it to safety. I'd like my papa to meet my partner."

Ezra nodded. "You see, Mr. Sanchez. I'm not trying to commit suicide -- far from it. I'm trying to keep my skin intact -- what's left of it."

"He needs to rest a little longer. The bullet wound might tear open if he gets on that horse!" Josiah insisted.

Miguel shrugged. "I'd rather not kill you, papa. Maybe this one is my brother? I don't know, but I'd kill him quick if it kept me from bein' caught. Get him in the saddle if you want to keep him." Miguel looked curiously at Ezra again. "Is he my brother?" he asked Josiah.

"No, Miguel," Josiah responded woefully. "He's not."

"A half-brother, maybe?"

"No."

"Are you certain? I bet you had plenty of women in your day."

"I'm certain," Josiah bit back.

"Maybe he's a step-son, huh?"

"No, no, he's not."

"Maybe some lady just told you that he's your son. You didn't know for sure so you paid her for his upkeep?"

"No, it's not like that."

"You adopted him?"

"No, Miguel, no." Josiah's voice grew louder as Miguel pestered him.

"Maybe he's a nephew, huh? A cousin?"

"No!"

"A foundling left at your doorstep?"

Josiah's frown deepened, realizing that Miguel was playing with him. "No! He's not. He's nothing to me."

Miguel laughed again, his quick fox laugh. "So that's it! He's nothing at all." He gestured abruptly. "Get that 'nothing' on his horse. We're going."

Josiah placed one hand on Ezra's shoulder, and kept the other below his elbow to keep him upright. "I didn't mean it like that, Ezra," Josiah said softly. "I just…"

"Mr. Sanchez, you spoke perfect truth. We're unrelated in any way."

"It just came out wrong."

Ezra smiled tightly as he leaned on Josiah. "Please, this isn't something to be worried about. What we need to do is keep our heads and be on our way," Ezra said in a low voice as Josiah helped him toward the horses. "I'm certain that all will be well, and that we escape this in the end."

When they came alongside Chaucer, Josiah helped Ezra into the saddle. His torn side made it difficult for him to bend at all and Josiah nearly had to lift him up and place him in the saddle. Ezra didn't utter a word during the process, breathing deeply and squeezing his eyes shut. Once he was settled, Josiah patted Ezra on the leg. "Okay?" he asked.

Ezra nodded, his face paler after the exertion. "All's well, Mr. Sanchez. Your sewing is remarkably adept. I don't believe that I've busted out in any manner."

Josiah smiled, glad for small favors.

"Tie his hands to the horn," Miguel instructed, tossing a length of rope to his father. "Make sure it's tight." He pointed his weapon at Ezra, suspicious of the man.

Josiah threw Miguel an angry glance and then looked back to Ezra, who sighed and presented his hands to be tied. The knots had to be redone once, when Miguel decided that the ropes weren't tight enough. After he was finished with Ezra, Josiah was allowed to mount and then Miguel tied his father's hands. The group started off again -- under a much different mood than before.

 

PART 11:

They traveled through the night. Ezra's horse tied to Josiah's, and then Josiah's to Miguel's. The outlaw needed only glance to his right to see both of his captives. His father was fairly visible in the moonlight. Ezra moved through the gloom.

Josiah kept a careful watch on Ezra, whose head would dip from time to time and he shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. Chaucer moved like quicksilver, never jostling his rider.

Once, Josiah watched as Ezra slumped dangerously forward. "Ezra!" Josiah cried, wishing he could reach out to stop him. He heard Miguel bark out a laugh in response. "Ezra," he said again, and the man straightened, nodding to Josiah.

Ezra worked at the ropes almost constantly, stopping when he felt Miguel's gaze upon him and using that time to droop even further. Let the man think he was half-dead. If Garcia believed he was too sick to be a threat, then Ezra would use that to his advantage. Josiah had tried to be kind with the ropes, but had to be retied, and they cut cruelly against his wrists. There wasn't much room to work, and he was never very good with knots -- still, with a little work he might find a way to get past them.

He'd have to make due with what had been given to him. He chuckled -- that was the story of his life – making due with what he had. He'd made a career out of that practice.

He glanced to see Josiah looking at him curiously, probably alarmed by the laughter. He grinned widely, realizing that he probably looked like a maniac. He chuckled again and lowered his head.

The night was cold and clear. As they moved through the late autumn night, Ezra figured that they were due for a long winter. He shivered in his ruined jacket, wishing that he'd been allowed a blanket at least, but he doubted he could count on any favors from Garcia. Ezra's pride in the jacket's supposed warmth had long since fled. Well, it didn't help that it had a hole in it and that he had lost more blood than what was comfortable.

He let his head dip forward again, convincing himself that he was only doing it to throw Miguel off the truth, but he seemed to drift until he heard Josiah bark his name. How long had he been calling? Ezra blinked his eyes, trying to find his bearings and then looked toward Sanchez, seeing that concerned look. He smiled, grinning wider than one really should, and then continued his work on the ropes.

A sound caught him and he listened intently, trying to discern what he was hearing. Ahead of them, something rushed and burbled. The Banyon River, he finally decided. He calculated their journey and figured that they must be nearly to Mexico. He sighed, wondering what would happen next. 'Nothing good', he decided.

The sound of the water rushing in the distance hypnotized him and he suddenly found that they'd reached it and were at the water's edge. They paused to let the horses drink. Nobody was allowed to dismount and soon they were underway again.

They continued onward along the river and Ezra gazed out at the moon-silvered surface. Something carried in the flow caught his eye and he tried to discern what it was -- it flashed like metal, a sieve? He laughed softly at that thought. Funny that he thought of a sieve -- it would sink of course. A sieve would sink.

He smiled, reminded of a poem he had read in his latest acquisition.

He cleared his throat as he recalled the words. "They went to sea in a Sieve, they did, in a Sieve they went to sea," he spoke out loud. He couldn't help himself. "In spite of all their friends could say, on a winter's morn, on a stormy day, in a Sieve they went to sea!"

"Ezra," Josiah's voice sounded alarmed. "Ezra? Are you okay?"

He closed his eyes, nodding to his horse's gentle gait and continued to speak, "And when the Sieve turned round and round, and every one cried, ‘You'll all be drowned!' They called aloud, 'Our Sieve ain't big, but we don't care a button! We don't care a fig! In a Sieve we'll go to sea!'"

"Ezra!" Josiah shouted. "Look at me, Ezra!"

He opened his eyes and glanced across at his companion. "I'm right as rain, Mr. Sanchez," he answered, and then turned to watch the flashing thing disappear from sight. Maybe it was just a piece of wood, a raft of leaves, a dead thing lost in the current, caught in the moonlight.

"Ezra?" There was no mistaking the concern in Josiah's voice.

"I'm fine, Mr. Sanchez," Ezra replied.

"Far and few," he spoke, "far and few, are the lands where the Jumblies live."

Miguel chortled. "He's off his head."

Josiah threw his son an angry look before returning his gaze to Ezra. "You feeling hot, Ezra?"

"No, no, not at all." Ezra still watched the water, looking for the more magical things to appear. He shivered suddenly and closed his eyes, waiting for the shudder to stop. "In fact, rather the opposite." And then, he added, "Their heads are green, and their hands are blue."

"Your side hurtin' you any worse?" Josiah persisted.

"I hardly notice it any longer." Standish blinked his eyes, hoping to get his pain under control.

Josiah frowned as he watched Ezra. "Let me get a look at the bandage."

Ezra obligingly pulled his jacket back with his elbow to expose the dressing. "You see, I'm fine. Hardly anything has bled through. Your attempts to put me back together proved to have worked." He shivering suddenly increased, and he let the jacket drop back into place and tried to hug it to him.

Josiah turned toward Miguel. "He'll need a blanket."

Garcia shrugged. "We're almost there. He'll manage."

"You can let a man have a blanket!" Josiah demanded. "He's lost a lot of blood and can't keep his heat in. He's gonna get sick."

"Sick?" Miguel sounded annoyed. "He shot at me first. I got a hole in me and you don't see me whinin' about the cold. He'll last."

Josiah threw Ezra a consolatory glance, wishing that there was something he could do. Ezra just shrugged and tried not to look so cold, the rhyme still running through his head.

~ And they went to sea in a Sieve ~

 

PART 12:

"You sure it's gonna be okay?" Buck asked as he checked his saddlebags. "I mean, we could wait a couple days for Ezra and Josiah to come on back. Those fellas could cool their heels in our jail."

Chris shrugged, leaning against the divider that separated his horse's stall from Buck's. "Don't know how long they'll be. Depending on the trial, Josiah and Ezra may not be back for a week, maybe longer. We gotta get those prisoners moved."

"We won't be gone but two days, Buck, "Vin reminded as he checked over the rented mounts they'd be using for the captives.

"I figure three of us can take care of things for that time, "Chris committed.

Nathan laughed lightly. "Ain't like there's a shoot-out every day."

It wasn't yet light, but the town was beginning to stir. Vin and Buck were starting out early, determined to make the trip back and forth from Cedar Ridge as quickly as possible, to keep their time away from town to a minimum.

"Well, seems like nothin' goes well when we start splitin' up," Buck responded. "Always some sort of trouble croppin' up. Remember when you sent me, JD and Ezra to South Bridge while Josiah and Vin were at Clarkston? Did that go well? Ended up with JD getting' shot and almost losing Ezra."

Chris chewed his cheroot and didn't respond immediately. "Gotta get these prisoners out of here."

"South Bridge just brings trouble," Buck continued.

"Well," Chris responded. "Josiah and Ezra ain't even made it there yet."

"Chris!" They could hear JD shouting even before he ran into the livery. "Chris!" He tore through the darkness, heedless of the fact that he was awakening most of the town. "Look at this!" He barreled into the building, grasping a telegram in his hand, his eyes wide and panicked.

"Hold on there!" Buck chided. "What's the noise all about, kid?"

"Winston just opened the telegraph office. This was the first thing in, "JD cried, holding the message carefully in his hands. "From South Bridge."

Chris closed eyes. This was all like a bad dream. No! Nothing could have happened to them! They couldn't even have reached the town yet.

"Well, what's it say?" Buck demanded impatiently.

"PRISONER GARCIA ESCAPED. SHERIFF MURDERED IN CELL. TRAIL LEADS TO MEXICO. POSSIBLY WORKING WITH ACCOMPLICE. INFORM FATHER. EXTREME CAUTION." JD lowered the note and looked at his friends. "Damn," he muttered.

Buck sighed and pressed his head against his horse. Nathan groaned and Vin scuffed his boots angrily at the dirt floor. Chris chewed his cheroot into a shapeless mess.

In a matter of fifteen minutes, they were packed and on their way to South Bridge, leaving the prisoners in the care of a trusted townsman.

 

PART 13:

They continued onward, moving slowly due to the darkness. Ezra tried to stay alert, tried to work at the ropes, but his head felt heavy, he could hardly think. It felt as if his skull was filled with cold porridge, with glue, with paste. He blinked, trying to clear his mind. Only his aching side kept him from sleep. Bits of odd poetry kept running through his head.

~ And the water it soon came in, it did, the water it soon came in. ~

He yawned and tried to rid his head of Edward Lear. Damn him! That man could be awfully annoying. The sky began to grow light in the east. The gentle banks of the Banyon became sharper as the river dug into the earth, creating a channel.

~ So to keep them dry, they wrapped their feet in a pinky paper all folded neat, and they fastened it down with a pin ~

Miguel held up one hand, drawing them to a stop. The first light of dawn illuminated the area, showing a horse and a tent at the river's edge – someone's camp. The three horses stood together as Miguel's eyes searched. He smiled finally and turned to Josiah. "You want to meet my partner?" he asked. When Josiah didn't respond, he called out in a low, but deliberate voice, "Ker." There was silence. The horse in the camp snorted and he said again, "Ker?"

Ezra lifted his head and watched… waiting.

~ And they passed the night in a crockery-jar ~

Suddenly someone moved from the tent and stood for a moment in contemplation.

"Kerstin, it's me."

"Miguel?" a voice finally returned, surprisingly feminine.

Miguel smiled and gave his horse a kick, pulling the other two along with him.

"Keri," Miguel grinned broadly as he rode up to her. The woman came out of the dimness, tiny, blonde and fair, she gazed up at them in wonder. "Didja get here okay?" he asked her.

"Yes, yes. I was so afraid, but I did it. I crossed the river like you said to. Went down the water so they couldn't follow. Nobody has come. We will stay together now, yes?" She had a Swedish accent and a nervous demeanor.

"Sure, Keri."

She looked up to the strangers, and added, "Who are they, Miguel?"

Miguel swung himself out of the saddle. "Keri, this is my papa, Josiah Sanchez. Papa, I'd like you to meet my wife, Kerstin -- your daughter-in-law."

Josiah's felt his jaw drop. He wasn't even aware that Miguel had stepped forward and cut his bonds, freeing him from his place on the horse. "Keep an eye on ‘em, Keri. They're our prisoners for now."

She nodded exaggeratedly, pulling a gun from somewhere in her skirts. "I'll shoot them if they run, yes?"

Miguel laughed. "Try to spare my papa if you can. Shoot that one if it comes to that." He pointed at Ezra, but quickly lowered his hand as his arm pained him.

"Oh, Miguel." Kerstin sidled up beside her husband. She tenderly rested her hand on the bandage. "Min älskling, you're hurt."

Miguel groaned as his little wife touched his arm and winced pitifully. "This one shot me." He nodded to Ezra. "It's been hurtin' like hell the whole way here. I'm gonna need somethin' to knock back that pain." The young woman glared hatefully at Ezra.

Miguel handed the knife to Josiah, and smiled broadly. "See how much I trust you?" he said. "You can cut down your friend." And he stepped back, as Kerstin kept a gun trained in his direction.

Josiah raised the knife to the ropes, and then paused, noting the blood caked near the handle. He ran his thumb along it and was quiet. Where had this blood come from? Josiah felt himself grow cold as he considered it. Miguel may have simply prepared some game for a dinner, that would explain it. But why didn't Josiah believe this? He stared at the blood, as if it might talk and explain it all to him. 

The man in the saloon – Josiah remembered the tale. And he looked to Miguel, holding the knife carefully, and staring at the telltale stains.

"Miguel had to kill that sheriff," Kerstin said, noting Josiah's gaze. "He would have made noise! He was going to kill my Miguel!"

"What?" Josiah asked sharply. "Sheriff Hughes?"

"We had to tie him and kill him!"

Miguel glared at his wife and then shrugged. "It wasn't like that. He was coming at me and I had to defend myself."

"Yes, he can't get us now, that devil!" Kerstin responded.

Miguel gestured to Ezra who watched the proceedings with a calculating eye. "Get him down. We can't wait all day."

Josiah turned his back on his son and stared at the knife in his hands, digesting what had just been said. Miguel had killed the sheriff. How much of his story could be believed? Josiah kept moving. The rope was quickly severed and Josiah found himself unable to move just yet. He stared at the blood-stained hilt of the knife, lost in horrible thoughts. Finally, Kerstin darted in and snatched the weapon from him. 

Ezra's voice finally reached him. "Mr. Sanchez, I'm afraid I'll need your help to get down." He sounded almost embarrassed by this statement. "I'm sorry, but bending is not my strong suit at this moment. I don't mean to inconvenience you."

Without speaking, Josiah picked Ezra out of the saddle and got him to the ground. His mind still reeled. No, he thought – it can't be. No! Miguel wouldn't have killed someone so cold-bloodedly!

The young blonde hovered nearby, the knife held at her side. She leapt forward when Ezra was in reach. "You!" she shouted. "You shot my Miguel! You deserve to die, svin!" She spat, splattering Ezra's shoulder. Standish grimaced as Josiah tried to steady him.

When she lunged toward Ezra again, Josiah put out an arm to stop her, finally freeing himself from his discombobulated state. "Leave him alone!" he bellowed.

"Don't touch her!" Miguel responded just as quickly, jumping forward and dragging Kerstin away. She stumbled as she tried to keep her feet, and twisted back toward them as if she meant to try another attack. Garcia held his weapon on his father stilling any further movements.

Ezra, holding onto his horse, said, "Let her be, Josiah. She's distraught. Someone that she cares about is hurt. Her actions are understandable." He pressed his head against Chaucer as he tried to catch his breath. 

"You doing okay, Ezra?" Josiah put his hand on Ezra's back to keep him upright. The fastidious man glanced at his soiled shoulder and shuddered in disgust. Obligingly, Josiah pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and cleaned up the evidence of Kerstin's attack.

"Thank you." Ezra breathed slowly. "I'm not so bad, really." He closed his eyes and continued to lean against his horse. "Just the change in position. Give me a moment, a moment only."

"You get him over here," Miguel ordered.

"My moment is up," Ezra commented. "We'd best do as he says."

Ezra stiffly walked in the direction that Miguel had indicated with Josiah at his elbow. Kerstin stood beside her husband, her eyes wide and wild in the early light.

Miguel undid his saddlebags and handed them to Kerstin. "Put these someplace safe, woman," he said as he pulled the two rifles from his saddle. "We don't need those fellas getting a‘hold of their firearms." Burdened with the weaponry, Kerstin skittered back to the tent. When she reached it, she moved slowly and quietly, as if she was afraid of waking something within. Soundlessly, she set the bags and rifles inside and then hurried back to her husband's side.

Josiah and Ezra continued where Miguel had directed them. There was a little dead tree at the edge of camp, which seemed to be their destination. Ezra leaned heavily against Josiah and gasped as they walked.

"Ezra," Josiah whispered, his voice deep with concern. "Come on, now. It's not far. I'll get you settled in a moment and take care of you."

"Not to worry," Ezra said, his voice, too low for the others to hear, sounded stronger than his actions. "Let's just play along for now. We'll leave as soon as it proves feasible."

"Set him down there." Miguel pointed to the snag that curled near the ground. He watched as Josiah helped Ezra to sit. The gambler seemed barely conscious and rested heavily against the bent tree.

Carefully, Josiah checked the bandage, finding that his stitches had kept the wound shut and it hadn't bled badly. As he worked, he could feel Ezra shivering beneath his hands.

Ezra's skin was still pale and cold, but the eyes that met his were clear and calm. "Just a scratch," Ezra said softly. "Be ready."

Josiah nodded tightly and squeezed Ezra's shoulder, hoping that when the time came, they'd both be up to it.

There was a crunch of boots on dirt and suddenly Miguel loomed over them. "So, is Sand's gonna live?"

Ezra suddenly became more incoherent, mumbling feverously. His eyes drifted closed.

"Ezra," Josiah called sharply, and prayed that he understood what was an act and what was reality -- with this con artist, it was often difficult to tell. "I'm gonna try and make you more comfortable, okay?" Ezra shifted slightly as Josiah tried to get him to lie down.

Ezra gripped Josiah's arm until Sanchez relented. He settled for making Ezra comfortable sitting against the tree trunk. Damn fool! Josiah thought, knowing that Ezra didn't want to be in an inconvenient position if trouble arose.

Miguel stood above them, the gun always held ready. "So, is he gonna make it?"

"He'll be all right if you let him rest," Josiah responded. "If you let me take care of him properly."

"Not dead at least. Keep an eye on him, Kerstin. If that fancy man starts to move, shoot him."

She scuttled to her husband, clutching the gun greedily and lifting it toward Ezra who'd became very still -- either unconscious or asleep.

"Ezra," Josiah called softly, resting a hand against his shoulder. Don't do this to me, son!

Ezra opened one eye and gazed back at Sanchez, before closing it again. Josiah patted him softly. He could still feel the shiver beneath his hand.

"Can I have a blanket for him?" Josiah asked. "There's a couple on his horse. If we don't get this chill out of him, he's not going to last much longer."

"What's wrong with him, huh?" Kerstin asked. "Why is he so sick?"

"Your husband shot him," Josiah answered evenly as he stood, towering over the small woman.

Kerstin stuck out her chin and muttered, "Deserved it then. He hurt my Miguel."

"Now, now, now," Miguel said, spreading his arms magnanimously. "Don't fight. Papa, you should kiss your new daughter. Kerstin, kiss your papa."

The two looked at each other warily, but the blonde stepped forward quickly and stood on her toes to give Josiah a quick peck on the cheek. He returned the sentiment, taking hold of one of her little hands, and kissing her cheek softly. She struggled, trying to pull the hand away, and when he released her, she jerked from his grip and darted away, the gun still clutched in her other hand.

"There now," Miguel said with a smile. "We're a family now." He paused, looking content. "But you haven't seen the best part! Kerstin!" He nodded to the tent and, after a hesitation, the little wife went inside.

They could hear the woman talking quietly in her own language as she huddled in the tent. Her voice was lilting and soft, floating out of the little tent, "Vakna nu, lilleman. Din far ropar på dig." Josiah thought they heard another voice, softer and less distinguishable. She spoke again, "Hysh, älskling. Inte kommer han tycka om dig om du gråter." She rustled around within the tent and then finally emerged, with something precious clutched in her arms.

"Papa, meet your grandbaby." Miguel gestured grandly to the child in Kerstin's arms.

Josiah inhaled deeply. The sky was beginning to grow bright and the early morning rays, stretching from behind the child. He clung to his mother, watching Josiah with huge and unsure eyes.

He was dark-skinned, like Amelia, but his hair was light brown, looking almost sun-bleached. His face blended the races that went into him, creating something strikingly beautiful. He looked like a doll, like a doll too precious for play. He stared back at Josiah with his stark blue eyes.

"I named him after you," Miguel declared proudly.

"Liar!" Kerstin spat back. "He's named for my father. His name is Per!"

"Per Josiah!" Miguel corrected, and then added, "…Garcia."

Josiah shook his head in wonder. He could see shadows of Amelia in the boy's face. His wide frightened eyes seemed to echo his mother's. There was Miguel in his cheeks and ears and Josiah could even pick himself out of the boy's features.

"Per," Josiah muttered, trying the name of his grandson. "Per."

The boy blinked his eyes and looked at his grandfather. His hold on his mother relaxed.

"Per," Miguel said. "This is your gran'papa. Give gran'papa a kiss."

"No!" Kerstin shouted, twisting away from Miguel and walking back toward the tent. "He's mine! I won't share him!"

"Keri," Miguel groaned. "I brought Sanchez here so he'd get to see his grandson. Let the old man see the boy."

Kerstin bit her lip, turning the skin beneath her teeth white. "He's my baby," she moaned.

"Kerstin!" Miguel shouted, and the woman cringed.

Quickly, she set the boy on his feet and spoke to him again in her native tongue, "Säg ‘hej' till din farfar."

The boy unclasped her neck and rubbed his sleepy-eyes. He looked suspiciously at Josiah and shook his head and pouted his lips.

"Per! Come here!" Miguel ordered and the little boy tripped his way toward him. Miguel scooped the boy and Per gave a cry of alarm that quickly turned into an unsure little squeal as his father spun him around. Finally he laughed as he spun.

"Papa!" Miguel said with a wide smile. "Here's your grandbaby!" And he thrust the boy at his father.

Josiah held out his arms as the boy was pressed to him. Per was timid for a moment, letting Josiah hang onto him while he twisted about to see his mother.

"Per," Josiah said softly, staring into the child's eyes. "Per, I'm your grandfather." His voice rumbled in his chest and the boy giggled.

"Faffa?" the boy looked to his mother for confirmation and when Kerstin nodded, the boy pressed his head against Josiah and started babbling in a mixture of Swedish, English and pure gibberish.

Josiah wrapped his arms around the small child, tears coming to his eyes. 

 

PART 14:

"Should be gettin' into town ‘bout now," Buck said as he rode alongside Chris. "Figure Josiah's findin' out what happened between his son and Sheriff Hughes?"

Nathan nodded. "Josiah's gonna need us. He's gonna want someone he can talk to."

"Is that why we're goin' there?" JD asked. "Why can't Ezra be the one who talks to him?"

Vin laughed lightly. "I figure Ez'd do that fine. Don't need us for that."

"Something else then?" JD persisted.

"Yeah, figure Chris has a feelin'." Vin nodded toward their leader.

Buck smiled and shook his head. "You thinkin' that something went wrong with those two? Thinkin' they're in a passel of trouble?"

"Could be," Chris replied evenly.

"Garcia's headin' to Mexico, stud," Buck commented. "Unless Ezra and Josiah get a sudden inklin' to visit Purgatorio instead of South Bridge, they ain't gonna cross paths."

Chris' gaze stayed on the road ahead. "Garcia knew that Josiah was coming to see him… and now he's gone. Might have come this way."

Nathan frowned. "Why?" he asked. "It makes no sense."

"The telegram from South Bridge said they found the trail going south," JD put in.

"Maybe he got help," Chris explained. "Could be it was a false trail."

"Kind of a long shot," Buck supplied.

"Happens sometimes," Vin put in quietly.

"Way I see it," Chris said. "The two of them got blood between them – father and son. That's gotta mean something. I'm figuring that the boy will want to see Josiah. Kid should go to his father when he's got trouble."

The others only nodded as they all continued on their way.

 

PART 15:

Josiah sat against the dead tree, and Ezra leaned against him, dozing. Sanchez had finally been able to obtain a blanket for his friend, but the cold night, the ride, and the wound seemed to have sapped all the energy from Standish. Ezra would open his eyes from time to time to gaze out at their captors, and then seemed to fall into a light sleep, pulling the blanket close.

Whether he was truly asleep or not, Josiah wasn't sure. Ezra seemed determined to make Miguel believe that he was in worse shape than reality -- or maybe he was playing Josiah -- trying to make him believe that all was well and not to worry. A soft snore escaped Ezra, hardly louder than his normal breathing. Ezra was always quiet in his sleep, Josiah knew, even when he had nightmares.

Why do you have nightmares, Ezra? Josiah thought as he wrapped one arm around the sleeping man -- being careful of his wounded side. Ezra continued to sleep. Josiah did his best to remain awake. He had already spent a long night without sleep and was afraid he wouldn't last much longer.

Miguel had found a bottle of whiskey and was doing his best to deaden his pain and finish it off before his wife completed preparing their breakfast. Garcia had found the biscuit mix, bacon, butter and potatoes that Ezra had packed, and those items now comprised the better part of their meal. It seemed that they were in no hurry. The dead sheriff would be discovered in his cell, but they were half-a-day away from South Bridge.

The woman fussed around the fire, trying to make a meal for her family, while keeping a hold on the child. She had snatched the boy from Josiah as soon as Miguel had allowed it and since that time had kept the boy close to her skirts.

Per played with some sticks, talking to himself and staying near his mother. Suddenly, he stepped back and his small hand came down on the handle of the big iron skillet that Kerstin was about to set on the fire. She screamed and barely caught the pan, saving their breakfast from the dirt.

Per jumped back, his eyes wide as he rubbed at the sides of his head in distress. His mother snapped off angrily, "Per! Varför är du alltid i vägen?"

"Quiet!" Miguel shouted. "You'll have the whole country on our tail if you don't shut up!"

Kerstin cringed from him as he slammed down the bottle and swooped in to pick up the boy. The child cried out again.

Miguel stomped across the camp and tossed the boy at his grandfather. "You keep an eye on him."

When Miguel came back toward her, the young woman spoke sharply, "The boy is mine! I want him here!"

"Shut up, Keri! God! Do you never shut up?" Miguel shouted as he returned for the whiskey. "I'm just keepin' the boy from gettin' under your feet. You stay here and make me my breakfast! You can have the boy back when I say so. Don't disobey me."

Kerstin glared at the big man and then stooped by the fire again, poking at it angrily.

Per stared back at his parents, but cuddled close against this man who'd he'd accepted so readily. Josiah sighed softly, with the child in his arms and Ezra sleeping against his shoulder. There was something familiar and comforting about it all. In spite of the circumstances, Josiah felt almost happy at that moment.

Ezra stirred slightly, waking, then said in a hushed voice, "He's a beautiful child."

"Yes, yes he is," Josiah agreed.

"He looks like you, "Ezra added. "Truly, a lovely child." He smiled invitingly at the boy.

Per, seeing that Ezra was awake, started to babble at him. He reached out a hand and grabbed onto Ezra's blanket, saying, "filt." He laughed as he pulled, repeating the word, "filt."

"Blanket," Ezra prompted. "Blanket."

The little boy giggled and said, "Bank-et." He smiled sweetly at the two men, drinking in the attention.

"So, Young Per," Ezra responded. "How do you feel about meeting your grandfather?"

The boy cocked his head and gave no sign of understanding. "Bank-et," he said again, and then continued in Swedish, skipping about with words that were probably more baby-talk than vocabulary.

"I don't think he knows much English," Josiah surmised.

Ezra spoke again, unintelligibly for a second, before Josiah realized he was speaking Spanish. "¿Entiendes español, jovencito? ¿Conoces el idioma de tu abuela?" Ezra's eyes carefully watched the boy, looking for any sign of comprehension. Per clapped as he mouthed a few of the words, apparently understanding some of it.

Ezra paused for a moment before switching to another language. "Francais? Je crois que il n'est pas possible." The boy smiled even wider, but gave no indication he'd understood the works spoken so seriously to him. Standish tried again with, "Ah, aber die Deutsche Sprache kann eine Möglichkeit sein." Not getting a response, he tried again, "Forse parli italiano? Poco? No?"

"Ezra," Josiah said. "Are you showing off?"

Ezra shrugged. "It would be showing off if I could actually converse with the child. I don't know Swedish or anything Scandinavian," Standish said apologetically. "A pity, truly. I should have learned Dutch, but…" A strange and longing look crossed Ezra's face before he tried again with a language that Josiah didn't recognize at all.

"What was that last one?" Josiah asked, curiously.

"Hungarian."

"Hungarian? How'd you come to know that?"

"Thought it might come in handy."

When Josiah shook his head and chuckled, Ezra added, "I'm hardly fluent in it. I only picked up a few words. I knew a gentleman in Charleston who was from that country. A perplexing tongue."

"How many languages do you know?"

"Know? I've picked up pieces of about a dozen or so. Mostly just enough to get me in trouble."

"More, more!" the boy demanded, tugging at Ezra's blanket. Ezra obliged, in Chinese.

"Don't tell me you learned that from that Chinese girl," Josiah started.

With a wistful expression, Ezra said, "No, only a few words from a shopkeeper I knew in my youth. A most wonderful woman." He spoke a few more words, and it made the boy laugh. Ezra smiled along with Per. 

It was good to see him smile. Standish was still far too pale, but at least he wasn't shivering as he was before. He seemed to have gained back some of his energy at least.

Finally, Ezra asked, "Do you believe your son will let us go?" He raised his eyes toward Garcia. "Now that this little meeting is complete and we're in Mexico, do you believe he'll let us go? I would be glad to be gone from his company."

"I don't know, Ezra."

"This can't go on for much longer. We're no longer needed and I believe that, given the right prompting, we might be able to convince him to let us be. Surely, he can feel safer now that he's left the country."

"Everything's changed, Ezra," Josiah uttered.

Ezra's voice was quiet and there was enough distance between them that Miguel and Kerstin couldn't easily hear them. "I was suspicious about the sheriff from the start." He licked his lips and sighed. "Something about his story didn't sit well. Justice should be sought, but…" He lifted one hand free from the blanket and let it drop. Per watched the action with a smile. "Our situation hardly allows for any action."

"Their deaths are on my conscience, Ezra. My son killed them. If I had only been there in time -- if I had EVER been there for him, those men might still be alive."

Ezra looked puzzled. "So, you're responsible for the deaths perpetrated by another?"

"No, yes, it's my fault that he came to that. I should have taught him better"

"This is not your doing. If he feels any filial responsibility, he'll let you go shortly -- and me along with you. We'll decide what to do about all this once we return to civilization."

"No, Ezra." Josiah felt his eyes begin to fill with tears. "I won't be going back," he muttered as he placed one big hand on the child's back. "I can't leave Per. I left my son and you see how he turned out. I won't leave this boy."

Ezra gazed at the boy, watching his quiet and precious movements. "I see," he started. "I wish you well on this noble journey. I'll be able to manage on my own." Ezra pushed off of Josiah and sat up without his support, groaning at the sudden pain. "…in a fashion," he added hastily.

"I'll make sure you're safe, Ezra!" Josiah shot out. "I won't leave you. I swear, I'll see to it that you can get home without trouble, but you have to understand -- I can't leave this child. His parents…" he trailed off, watching the two. Kerstin flitted nervously around the fire, constantly tossing anxious looks toward the child. Miguel stood nearby, drinking as if he sought to drown himself, watching her, watching them, holding his gun always ready.

"…There is something to be desired in their manner," Ezra completed quietly.

"Ezra," Josiah whispered. "I had the chance to raise Miguel right. He was just a boy, a few years older than Per." He watched the little child lovingly, remembering when Miguel was young. Per was studying his pockets, looking through them and laughing as he brought out treasures. He held up a comb to Ezra who smiled winningly at the child. "Miguel was beautiful, like this boy -- just sweet as anything. I should have stayed with him. Should have helped raise him. I should have been his father."

Josiah rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes and sighed deeply. Ezra said nothing, as he leaned against the big man again. 

"There was this wonderful boy, and I left him," Josiah finally declared. "I packed my bags and left him."

"In his mother's care?" Ezra added.

Josiah nodded curtly. "Yes, but I shouldn't have gone. I should have stayed. If I had stayed, then he wouldn't be like this! He would have turned out -- better. "

Per had found Ezra's sewing kit in Josiah's pocket and studied it carefully. The babe turned it toward Ezra, to show off the prize.

Standish smiled at the boy and said, "Lovely." He then turned to Josiah and whispered, "Your absence is what led Miguel to this point? Your absence forced him to kill defenseless men? To drag his wife and child through this?"

"I'd think it had a lot to do with it. I wasn't there for him."

"So he had no will of his own? Every decision in his life was based on the fact that he didn't know his father as well as he should?"

"Well, it didn't help!" Josiah barked out.

Per edged away from Josiah at his sharp comment, slipping off of his lap and crawling onto Ezra's. He ducked into the blanket and wrapped his arms around the Ezra's heedless of his injury. The gambler responded by closing his eyes. Josiah watched the boy's withdrawal with a heavy heart.

Kerstin made a movement to retrieve the child, but a gesture from Miguel stilled her.

Josiah groaned and said in a soft voice, "I aim to do better with Per. I'll stay with him this time. He won't follow the same path as his father. It's my fault that Miguel's life ended up like this."

Ezra was silent a moment before speaking, "So a man's father is to blame for everything that has gone wrong in one's life? Ah, that would be nice, to find a scapegoat for every failing. Yes, that'll work." Ezra sighed softly. "Blame the father. Someone should be to blame -- for everything."

Ezra kept his voice soft as he continued, not opening his eyes. "A man can pick another's pocket and say that he did it because he could never live up to his father's standards. He could cheat and steal, then declare that Father was at fault because the patriarch thought he wasn't worthy of his name. He could live a worthless and pointless life of sin, and claim innocence on the grounds that his father was less than appreciative. It would be so much easier that way, wouldn't it?"

"Ezra," Josiah said softly, bringing one arm his friend. Standish wasn't shivering any longer, but he still seemed cold. Per peeped out from under the blanket, looking at Josiah in fascination, no longer afraid.

"Yes." Ezra's voice had grown distracted and sleepy. "Why accept the consequences of one's actions? Just blame someone else."

"Ezra," Josiah said again, hoping to draw Ezra's attention, but he seemed to be drifting off. Per smiled and laughed, crawling out of his hiding place and back onto Josiah's lap.

"Josiah, I know that I have a free will," Ezra muttered tiredly. "I'm totally to blame for anything I do. Everything, in the end, is my own fault. To blame another is ludicrous." He shifted, leaning more of his weight against Josiah. "You can't blame yourself for the behavior of Miguel, just as my father shouldn't have to accept any condemnation for the way I turned out. You are, after all, human. You are allowed to make mistakes." His last words trailed off as he fell back into a slumber.

Josiah sighed. He kept one arm around Ezra, and wrapped the other around Per, holding them both tightly.

 

PART 16:

They'd been traveling for hours when the group of five men slowed at the waterhole. The horses were spent and this was a good spot to pause on the way to South Bridge.

Vin's eyes narrowed as he looked about as they came in.

"What's wrong, Vin?" JD asked, noting a change in the tracker's demeanor.

"Someone's joined ‘em," Vin explained, as he dismounted. "Big guy."

"Could be that it's just some other traveler, Vin," Nathan suggested. "Might have been here at a different time altogether."

Vin shook his head. "Nah, their tracks cross here, ya see?" He squatted down by the signs. "Someone crossed over Ezra's footprints here, and over there Josiah crosses over the big guy's prints."

"That story in the Clarion said that Josiah's son was a big man," Buck supplied.

"You don't really think it's him?" Nathan asked, looking from Buck to Vin. "It makes no sense! He would've gone to Mexico, not to Four Corners."

"Came out to meet Josiah," Vin decided. "They all went that way afterwards." He pointed southward.

"Mexico," Chris grumbled.

"Looks that way, cowboy," Vin returned.

"He came out here to bring Josiah with him?" JD asked. "Why would he have gone and done that?"

"Must've had a reason, boy," Buck interjected. "'Cause it looks like that's just what he done. Can't figure another reason for Josiah and Ez to take a trip. Josiah seemed pretty dead-set on seein' his boy."

Chris closed his eyes as he patted his exhausted horse. "We rest a bit here, but we ain't stayin' long."

"We gonna chase ‘em all the way to Mexico?" JD asked innocently.

"Ain't so far from here, cub!" Buck exclaimed. "Just got to go south a piece and then follow the Banyon River the rest of the way. Piece of cake."

Vin sighed and looked to Chris. "Still got that bad feelin'?"

Chris glanced across the land, wishing he could see all the way to Mexico. "Yup," he finally responded.

Vin nodded. "Me, too."

 

PART 17:

"Come here, old man," Miguel ordered. "Get yourself some breakfast."

Josiah looked up at his son and shook his head. "I'm a bit indisposed at the moment." He gestured at the two forms that trapped him. Ezra was fast asleep on his shoulder, snoring softly. Per still sat on his lap, pressed up against him and silently playing with his comb.

Miguel quickly crossed the distance and reached for his son. The boy shied from his father, as if the man were a stranger to him, and uttered a quick little yelp of surprise when the man pulled him from Josiah, dropping the makeshift toy.

"Kerstin, "Miguel said sharply and held the boy to his mother. Kerstin darted out to take the child. At the commotion, Ezra stirred and opened his eyes sleepily.

"Problem solved," Miguel stated. "You'd better eat now. Won't get a chance again once we get movin'. Bring some over to him if you want."

Josiah set his jaw, unable to move quickly due to Ezra's position. "The child is terrified of him," Sanchez murmured.

"I'm not so sure," Ezra responded, picking up the dropped comb and handing it to Josiah. "Per seems more unfamiliar than anything, and Mr. Garcia doesn't seem to understand how to handle a child. I doubt that they've spent much time together at all." He sucked in his breath sharply as he pushed off of Josiah.

Josiah glanced to Ezra. "You okay?"

Standish nodded. "You'd better eat what you can," he said softly. "You'll need your strength." He leaned his weight against the snag, allowing Josiah to get out from under him.

Josiah agreed and said, "I'll get you something."

"Not particularly hungry," Ezra replied with a yawn.

"You'll eat," Josiah stated, a clear demand in his voice. He pressed a hand against Ezra's head, looking for fever, finding him still more cold than anything.

"Do what he asks," Ezra said softly. "You're aggravating him."

"Aggravating?" Josiah bit back quietly as he opened Ezra's jacket to look at the bandage again. He was happy to note that it was still relatively clean.

"Mr. Garcia is with his wife, father and son, both of whom he hardly knows. He has brought you this distance just so that you could all be together. I suppose he had some fantastical idea that a beautiful family reunion could be achieved. I don't think he realizes that he has made this impossible." Standish met Josiah's eyes and said, "He may ask you for something simple, just to see if you would choose to be near him as opposed to me. You should do as he asks."

"I'll do as I choose, Ezra."

Ezra pulled his jacket shut as Josiah finished and then rubbed his thumb across his bottom lip. "It would be best if you showed him some… paternal care. He brought you here for that purpose. You're his father. He wants you to be his father again. I would suggest that you act that way for just a little while longer. It may prove to free us."

Josiah squatted before Ezra. "I don't feel so terribly fatherly toward him right now, but I understand what you're saying." He nodded. "I'll do what I can."

Ezra smiled at him slyly. "Be ready," he said under his breath.

Josiah clasped a hand on Ezra's shoulder, then stood. "You, too," he responded.

"I always am," Ezra responded with a lob-sided grin.

Josiah returned the grin, stretched slowly and then strode toward Miguel.

Miguel watched him with a calculating expression. "Sit down, Sanchez." Miguel indicated a log. "Keri will serve you somethin' to eat." The young man looked up at him expectantly.

Josiah glanced to Ezra, but he had apparently fallen asleep again, propped up against the dead tree. He'd bring a plate to Ezra before they started off again. It was only fair since the provisions had come from Ezra's pack.

Lord, that man was always off his feed when he wasn't feeling right. He'd have to get Ezra to eat, but at this moment he decided that Ezra was right, he'd give Miguel his total attention.

"Son," Sanchez said as he sat down on the log beside Garcia. He put one hand on Miguel's shoulder and smiled with as much pride as he could muster. The outlaw beamed back at him. "It's good to be with you, son," Josiah said ardently. He could smell the whiskey on his son, could see that familiar dullness returning to his eyes.

"Papa," Miguel responded joyfully, placing a hand on top of Josiah's. "I've been waiting so long for this day." The two big men sat side by side. The fire burned warmly before them, the river rushed behind them.

Miguel grinned, content with the circumstances and tipped back the bottle again. He gestured to Kerstin. "You ready with our breakfast, woman?" She skittered toward them with tin plates, mugs and forks, and then came back again with the big pan. Soon, Josiah and Miguel's plates were heaped with biscuits, fried potatoes and bacon.

She stood a moment before them, looking humble and unsure. Sanchez drove his fork into the heap and took a bite. He nodded appreciatively at the woman. "It's good," he said and she smiled slightly before snatching at her boy again and dragging him to the other side of the fire where the two of them sat to eat.

The boy's eyes traveled, looking from one man to the other, alighting on Ezra for a while. "Bank-et!" he stated proudly and laughed.

"This is great, great," Miguel said as he ate. "Here I am, sharin' a meal with my papa and my boy." He glanced across and said, "I want my boy. Three generations on one log. Come ‘ere, Per."

The boy looked cautiously at his father and then turned to his mother, babbling quietly in their shared language.

Miguel's brow furrowed. "I said, come here, Per." His voice was firm.

The boy snuggled close to his mother.

"Miguel, he's eating. You wait now, yes?" Kerstin tried.

"Per!" Miguel shouted and jumped to his feet. He staggered drunkenly for a moment. "Get over here."

The boy stood, and toddled to his father, looking up at him with huge and unsure eyes, and then glancing back at his mother. Miguel frowned, seeing the boy's hesitation. "Per!" he barked and snatched the boy up.

Per cried and pushed his hands against his father's chest. "Mamma," the boy called, and started to bawl.

"Per! Per!" Miguel shouted, not understanding. "I'm your papa! Don't be scared." He patted the child's back clumsily, but the boy didn't stop crying. He swung Per around, trying to cheer him, and the child shrieked. "Per!" Miguel called, stumbling drunkenly as he tossed the child and caught him.

The boy could hardly breathe through his sobbing. Josiah jumped to his feet. "Miguel! Let the boy be!" He reached out to try and pull the child from his arms, but Miguel twisted away.

"He's my boy!" Miguel declared, turning from his father.

Kerstin leapt toward him from the other direction. "Give him to me!" she shouted, her voice as sharp as a hawk's cry. "Give him to me!"

Miguel spun away from both of them, stepping back with the child still clutched to him. Per shrieked uncontrollably, reaching toward his mother and kicking at the father who he hardly knew. 

"Mamma!" the boy pleaded through his tears.

"Per! It's Papa!" Miguel insisted, and swung the child and tossed him, as the boy kicked out at him again. Miguel's feet suddenly hit the steep bank of the Banyon River and he stumbled. The child sailed out of his grasp. With a terrible heart-rending cry, Per fell and with a horrible splash, disappeared into the fast-moving river.

Miguel blundered, still fighting for his balance and against his drunkenness. Only Josiah's hand kept him from tumbling into the river as well. Kerstin shrieked, her hands clawing at her hair in pure terror, her eyes fastened on the water where her son had disappeared. She bent, collapsing into herself, screaming. Josiah struggled to keep his drunken son from plunging to his death.

A movement beside them was followed by a splash, as Ezra Standish ran across the camp and dove into the water after the lost boy.

 

PART 18:

"Ezra!" Josiah shouted as he struggled with Miguel. Garcia came up fighting.

"Get off me!" Miguel yelled, swinging one meaty fist into his father's jaw. Josiah fell back, stunned. He hardly had time to raise his hands in defense as Garcia came at him again.

"Miguel!" Josiah deflected an ill-directed blow as his son tried to pummel him. "Miguel! We've got to get to them!"

But the young man seemed beyond hearing. Between his drunkenness and his panic, he'd lost all reason. "Let me be, old man!" Miguel shouted, trying to place another punch before Josiah threw himself into the fight as well.

"Your son!" Josiah tried to reason as he swung at the man. "We've got to help him!"

Miguel reeled from the blow, but came back. He stumbled again, too inebriated to make sense of anything, intent on quelling Sanchez.

There was no time to mess around. Damn him! Josiah slammed a fist into Miguel's stomach and then up forcefully against the side of his head. Garcia made a move to catch his balance, but he staggered as his knees gave out and went down like a sack of manure.

Josiah stood gasping by the riverside, staring at his unconscious son, and then he spun toward the river.

Kerstin was halfway down the bank, wringing her hands and crying, "Where is he? Where? Where is he? Per! PER!"

Josiah's heart thudded in his chest as he stared out at the rushing water. There was no sight of either the child or Ezra. Kerstin's wailing voice filled the air, crying, "Pelle! Pelle! My baby! My baby!"

Damn, damn, damn! Josiah thought as he stepped his way along the top of the bank. Where were they? He hurried along the bank, searching for any sign. Please!

He ran -- he didn't know for how long. He followed the river, searching it for any sign. Suddenly a new sound reached him, another cry was competing with the mother who followed close behind him. Josiah ran toward it, his gaze finally fastening on a tree that had fallen into the river, its long branches spreading out into the flow, and there, caught in the tree – two heads appeared above the water's surface.

Thank God!

Sanchez stumbled and tumbled down the steep bank, with Kerstin close behind him. "Per! Per!" Her shrieking voice filled the air, accompanied by the wail of the child.

"Ezra!" Josiah shouted, and Standish turned his head toward him, as the water rushed around him. The look of relief on Ezra's face almost made Josiah cry. He clung by one hand to the branches of the dead tree, the other was tightly fastened around the boy. Per grasped onto Ezra for all he was worth.

When Kerstin was able to see the situation clearly, her voice seemed to reach new levels of hysteria. She grabbed onto Josiah's arm and would have pulled him over if she'd been any larger. "Herregud! Rädda honom!" she demanded.

Josiah didn't understand the words, but he knew the intent. I'll save him!" Josiah pledged -- both of them. "Ezra!" he shouted again. "You holdin' out okay?"

The soaked man glanced up at the arm that held them in the tree. "Holding tight, Josiah," he replied evenly, raising his voice to be heard above the rushing water.

"Gonna get you! Just hang on."

"Hurry," Ezra responded.

Josiah waded out into the water, hanging onto the tree and trying to get to where Ezra was trapped with Per, but the water was deep and fast, and the maze of branches made it impossible to reach them. He tried to swim, but the current pushed him back against the branches.

He gave up trying to move through the water and climbed onto the log. It dipped dangerously, dunking Ezra and Per under the water. Josiah's heart lurched as the two disappeared beneath the surface. Ezra came up sputtering with Per screaming even louder.

"Ezra! I'm sorry!" He started to climb down.

"Keep coming!" Ezra demanded. "Don't stop! I can't hold on much longer! Hurry!"

Josiah edged his way along the length of the tree. Each inch seemed to force the upper part of the tree farther under the surface. Ezra kept finding a new hold, with Per nearly strangling him.

"Hang on, Ezra. I'm almost there!" Josiah continued to move as quickly as he dared along the log. Kerstin's lament was a constant backdrop to the situation, accompanied by Per's screeching.  
"Please, Josiah," Ezra called. "Hurry!" He shivered, his face almost white with the cold. "Please, Josiah…"

"Almost there!" Josiah placed one foot after the other along the trunk, until he was as close as he dared. Per finally stopped his screaming when he saw Josiah appear before him. He looked hopefully toward his grandfather, clasping tightly to the nearly submerged Ezra. "Faffa?" he called hopefully.

Sanchez stretched out one arm, but they were frustratingly out of his grasp. "Get closer!" he called. "Just a foot or so, Ezra. I can't reach you."

Ezra nodded numbly and tried to find a new hold with his one free hand. He managed to draw a bit closer, but the branches didn't allow him much room. "Per," he whispered to the boy, shivering. "Your faffa is here to help us. You'll go to him now."

"No, no…" the boy murmured, clenching Ezra's wet jacket in a death grip, pressing his face against his neck. The water rushed around Ezra's back and shoulders as he tried to keep the kid out of the worst of the current.

"He'll get you back to your mamma." His teeth chattered as he tried to speak. "She'll have a nice warm blanket for you. Filt, yes?" The boy seemed to understand as Ezra grabbed a fistful of his shirt. "It's going to be alright," Ezra managed to say as he pulled the boy away from him, shoving him through an open spot among the branches toward Josiah. The boy released his hold on Ezra and turned toward Josiah. 

"Don't let go of him, Ezra!" Josiah shouted. "Keep a hold! I'll get both of you!" He leaned toward them as the boy stretched out his hands to him. The tree lurched when he bent forward as he clasped onto the boy's hand. The whole tree dipped dangerously, almost dunking Josiah as well. For a second he fought for his balance. I will not let go of the boy! God help me! I will not let go! He lurched back, his hand around the boy's arm. Per looked at him expectantly, his mouth open in surprise at his most recent dunking.

Josiah murmured a quick prayer of thanks as he tugged the child close.

Per worked his hands into Josiah's shirt, sobbing silently, his body jerking with his gasps as Josiah sat up, just inches above the rushing water, one hand tightly holding onto a branch for support. Josiah's eyes flashed along the tree, the surface of the water, the banks. He twisted about in terror, searching.

On the banks, Kerstin's shrieking had become a sobbing whisper. She fell to her knees in prayer. Per tried to work his wet and freezing body close to Josiah's, and still he searched. But no matter how hard he looked, Josiah couldn't find Ezra.

 

PART 19:

He was insane.

He'd decided that long ago. It explained a lot of things. Like becoming a lawman in Four Corners – insane. Continually testing Mr. Larabee's limits – crazy. Believing his mother was being honest with him when she'd agreed not to compete with the Standish Tavern – senseless. Putting on that damn dress – completely off his rocker. Agreeing to go on this expedition with Josiah – absolutely around the bend. Not stopping this little trip once things started going badly – undoubtedly stark staring mad.

This was the topper. Yes this. He should be committed to an asylum. Yes, lock him up now. Throw away the key. There was no hope for him.

He'd been doing well, feeling better once they'd gotten off the horses. He'd been minding his own business, letting the family have their little breakfast, work out their differences – they'd left him alone. He'd been resting, trying his damnedest to ignore the constant throb in his side, trying not to topple over due to his unbearable light-headedness.

He'd raised an eyebrow when Miguel took hold of his son, thinking that the man moved too quickly, grabbed too fiercely for such a small child. Garcia should let the boy come to him and not be constantly jerking him around. He'd grimaced when the man started whirling the poor babe around like a Dervish.

That wouldn't go well, he'd decided.

His gaze had followed the drunken footsteps as the outlaw tried to evade his father and wife. He felt his heart skip a beat as the man back-stepped closer to the river's edge.

The thought – ‘oh no,' loomed large, and then the child went flying. Oh no! Good God, NO!  
What could he do? Well, he should have thought it out first. Instead, he acted on impulse – never a good thing.

He hoped one of the other three might manage to safely collect the child – spare him a cold dip -- but as he managed to gain his feet and run in the direction the child had disappeared, he realized that there'd be no help. Josiah was tangling with his drunken son, and the mother had fallen into some sort of fit.

Funny, he hardly remembered getting to his feet and running that distance. It must have hurt like hell.

He really didn't want to do it. He hated being cold.

It really wasn't a smart thing to do.

His mother had trained him better. He had to look out for number one, for if he didn't who would?

He was insane.

He'd jumped before he even realized what he was doing. He dove into the water as if he was visiting his favorite waterhole on a sunny August day – not the Banyon River in early November! It took his breath away!

You see, he wasn't thinking. If he'd thought things out first, he would have stayed put. He was putting on a good show of being much more infirmed than reality. Garcia had gone for the con. No one would have said a word if he'd remained. Later, after everything was said and done, he could have just pointed to his bandaged side and looked a little faint. He would have been in the clear. No one would have faulted him for staying put. They would have lauded his intelligence.

Instead, like a fool – an insane fool that should have used his native intelligence to think things through – he'd reacted before he'd had time to put a proper plan in place. Like a fool, he'd jumped to his feet, let his perfectly good blanket drop and dove into water that would have been better utilized to chill bottle of lemonade.

Insane.

He hit the water and became a bit wiser.

He'd come up with the shock of cold, gasping for air. At that point, he should have swum immediately to the shore and gotten out. He could have dried himself at the fire, as he huddled in that lovely woolen marvel. This rude awakening should have been enough – but no – no no no. His eyes had fastened on the bobbing head of that boy.

Per had been screaming. If the boy hadn't sounded so afraid, maybe he would have been able to make the wise choice and swim toward the shore to save his own skin. Instead – he followed some strange instinct that made him do exactly the opposite of intelligence. He swam toward the boy, his side protesting all the way.

He'd caught the child after about a dozen strokes and Per had latched onto him like a lamprey. Ezra was a strong swimmer, having grown up around water, but conditions weren't ideal at this point. It was hard enough to swim in that terrible cold rushing water with his side sliced by bullet, but now, to manage it with a toddler sucked onto him – well – it was considerably harder.

It would've been smarter to shake the boy loose. What was the child to him anyway? Why should he worry about this other man's son? There was no gain in this activity.

He fought the current and the grasping child and the cold and the hurt and the growing dizziness and tried to keep both of their heads above the water's surface and make it to shore. He tried to speak a few calming words to the boy. Per, in response, tried to strangle him, tried to tangle up his arms and sink them both.

The tree appeared so quickly that Ezra hardly had time to register it. His first thought was – ‘Thank God!' He'd have something to latch onto. His next thought was – ‘GOOD GOD!' They were rushing toward it so quickly that he feared they'd both be skewered!

Somehow, he'd managed to turn himself and get one arm out of the boy's clasp and snag a branch before it snagged them. Praise be! They'd managed it! They were safe!

But, once the tree had them, they were trapped. The water kept pushing them into the branches and he couldn't manage to make his way toward the shore. He tried to push Per up onto a sturdy-looking limb, but the boy refused to yield. No, the child was quite satisfied with trying to throttle him. Why wasn't the boy smart enough to get out of the water?

Given the same opportunity, if their positions were reversed, Ezra would've taken it – in a hot minute!

It was so cold… so damn cold. He clung to the branch because he was trapped against it, because he couldn't get Per to go onto the limb, because he was too cold to move, too tired to move, too insane to move. He could only cling to the branch and the boy, and shiver in the cold, torrid water.

"Mamma," the boy sobbed. "Mamma."

"Hush," he responded. "I've got you. I won't let go."

The boy looked at him with his eyes all wet with tears and full of the river, and he sobbed out the word, "Bank-et." It was the one word they had between them. "Bank-et." The word hitched in the middle as he sobbed.

Wise boy – yes, I'd rather be wrapped up in a nice warm blanket, too – thank you.

"Soon," he said and the boy seemed to believe him. Per huddled closer and held on as the freezing water rushed around them. Ezra hoped he hadn't lied. He never liked to lie to children – but sometimes it was necessary. "I promise, Per, I'll see you safe. There's nothing I wouldn't do. I won't let go of you, I promise."

He could lie like a dog when he had to.

The boy whimpered miserably, looking to Ezra as if he thought this self-serving gambler might be his salvation. What did a rootless con artist have to offer?

The boy sobbed. 

What could I do? Ezra thought, and then the maddening verse returned to him, a poem suited to a child. He began reciting it, hoping to calm Per, "And all night long they sailed away. And when the sun when down, they whistled and warbled a moony song, to the echoing sound of a coppery gong, in the shade of the mountains brown."

Ezra tried to keep his voice light as he spoke, though his head was reeling, and he couldn't stop shaking. Per listened to the lilting voice of the southerner, watching his eyes. Ezra kept at the verse, hoping it might sooth the child. "'O Timballo! How happy we are." Per clung on as Ezra shivered. "When we live in a Sieve and a crockery jar.'"

Per almost laughed, his mouth twisting into a half-smile. His tears slowed. "'And all night long in the moonlight pale, we sail away with a pea-green sail, in the shade of the mountains brown!'"  
Ezra's eyes searched the bank above him, hoping…please. Hours passed – or perhaps only minutes -- and then the saintly face of Josiah appeared.

Josiah – bless you!

Josiah shouted reassurances and Ezra tried to be assured, answering his questions as calmly as he could manage. He watched as Josiah attempted to get to them. Sanchez waded out, but that didn't work.

Hurry, he thought.

Josiah kept trying to reassure – yes, yes, I'm fine. Hurry.

Finally, Josiah was walking along that tree, dunking them back into the water for sport. Ezra gasped and struggled to get the boy above the water, but he was getting colder by the minute – too tired. Oh, God, he was tired. And then Josiah wanted to give up on that idea – Damn it! Don't give up! Get the boy!

He was so damn cold – at least his side had stopped hurting, that was one good thing. But his hands – his hands could hardly hold. Please… hurry.

~ Far and few, far and few ~

And Josiah was coming toward them, walking along the downed trunk. He was beside them. He was reaching toward them. Please…

~ Are the lands where the Jumblies live ~

He tried to change his hold and get closer to Josiah. His limbs just wouldn't cooperate anymore. But, he could get Per to Josiah. The boy refused to let go. Why? Rescue was at hand!

~ Their heads are green and their hands are blue ~

"It's okay," he whispered. "He'll save you."

He grabbed hold of the boy's shirt with a hand that hardly functioned and maneuvered him toward Josiah. He noted the look on Josiah's face – that intent, intense look -- that almost terrified look. He could get the boy to Josiah. He could do that.

Then the tree lurched and he went under again… he lost his grip on the boy. No!

No!  
No!  
No!  
Damn it! Damn it all!

He swung out his frozen arm, trying to find him in the dark cold cold water. Where? I can't… No!

Please… please … dear Lord, let Josiah have him because I've lost him.

I've lost him. Lord help him. Please

~ And they went to sea in a Sieve ~

 

PART 20:

"EZRA!" Josiah bellowed, holding the shuddering boy close to him. For a second he caught sight of Ezra's brown hair, a head emerged from the water and whisked away. "EZRA!"

He stumbled back along the length of the fallen tree; it bobbed and lurched under him as he hurried.

"My baby! My baby!" Kerstin cried, her hands making greedy gestures at Josiah as he moved down the trunk toward her. Her face crunched up in a grimace that was half-pain and half-joy. "Give him back! Give him to me!"

The boy spun in his grasp as they reached the shore and almost launched himself from Josiah's grip when he saw his mother. The woman grabbed him, squeezed him tight and spoke soft whimpering words to him, whispering in his ear while the young boy held onto her. "Älskling!, mitt älskade barn!"

"Mamma! Mamma!" Per uttered, over and over again.

Josiah waited only until he knew the boy was safe with his mother then he moved past them and ran up the bank to get a better view. His eyes were on the river. Where did he go? Where is he? Damn! Ezra was gone! It had all happened so fast! Josiah knew he couldn't keep up with the river's pace on foot, but maybe Prophet could.

Kerstin was smothering the boy with kisses, seemingly oblivious to everything else around her. "Get him to the fire!" Josiah ordered, even as he started running back to the camp. "Get him out of those clothes. Get him warm!" The child had been like ice in his hands – God help Ezra.

The tree hadn't been far from the camp, but it seemed to take forever to run the distance again. It hurt Josiah to move in the wrong direction, knowing that Ezra was getting farther way by the second, but he needed the speed that only a horse could provide. He was gasping when he reached the camp again.

The fire still burned, merry and warm. He hoped that Kerstin got Per to it quickly -- warm up that baby. Now, if he could only get Ezra back here was well. He turned when he saw a motion out of the corner of his eye, as his son rolled onto his back and sat up.

"Sanchez," Miguel muttered. Josiah had no time. He fought to untie Prophet's reins. Chaucer's were tied in with them, making the knot even more difficult. The troublesome chestnut had been working on the knot and the leather was wet with horse spit. Josiah cursed as the reins refused to yield. Damn it! If he had a knife, he'd cut through this and be gone.

"It wasn't my fault," Miguel explained drunkenly, sitting with his bruised head in his hands. "The ground went out from under me." He seemed to be struggling with his jacket, trying to get it to fit him properly. "I wouldn't have dropped him if the ground stayed level."

The knot finally came loose and Josiah mounted his horse, glancing back at his son.

Miguel gave up on fixing his jacket and flung it off in disgust. Garcia met his father's eyes and said, "I ain't gonna go to jail. You can't make me go."

Josiah couldn't speak to him, unable to fathom the young man. Didn't he care about what had happened to his son? There simply weren't any words to say. He had no time to listen to the young man.

"You ain't gonna take me in," Miguel continued and Josiah heard the familiar sound of a gun being cocked. "You hear me, old man?"

Josiah turned and watched the young man level the gun at him. "Your son's alive," Sanchez said before he faced forward, driving his heels into Prophet's sides. If Miguel meant to shoot him in the back, he might as well get it over with. There was no way in hell that Josiah was going to wait for the man to figure it out on his own. There was no way in hell that he'd abandon Ezra.

He expected the report of the gun, the burn of a bullet, but none came. Instead, as his horse thundered off, racing the river, he thought he heard the man sobbing.

He passed Kerstin and Per. The woman didn't even look up at him, rushing back toward the camp, with her soaked boy in her arms. Josiah didn't understand what had drawn Miguel and Kerstin together; he only hoped that the boy would be okay when all was said and done. Protect them, he prayed.

It didn't take long to pass the place where the tree had fallen into the river. Onward he went, his gaze searching the river. 

Josiah recalled not long ago he and the others had thought Ezra had died in this river, pursued and murdered by the Hollowell brothers. They had mourned him. Josiah had been surprised at how much it had hurt – how horrible it had been to think that the cunning, charming, beguiling gambler had died. Everything had turned so black with that notion. When they'd later found him safe in his room – it had been as if the sun returned to the sky.

If the Banyon River were to take Ezra now –Josiah ran the back of his hand over his eyes as he kept his horse at a gallop. Oh God, don't let it happen. Please, let him be okay.

The Lord's Prayer tripped off his lips as his eyes followed the river, as he rushed alongside it.

 

PART 21:

He swam. Or at least tried to swim. His arms were of lead and his legs thrashed out pointlessly. It was so damn cold… so awful cold and he was so tired. He fought to keep his head above the surface as the river pulled and tossed him.

~ And each of them said, "How wise we are! Though the sky be dark, and the voyage be long,~

He'd always loved swimming. In his youth, it has been his escape. The rivers had been gentle, comforting.

~ yet we never can think we were rash or wrong, while round in the Sieve we spin. ~

Lord, he could hardly get a clean breath. The water pushed him forever forward, not allowing him any respite.

When he was a boy, he swam all the time.

~ Far and few, far and few, are the lands where the Jumblies live ~

The boy! If only he'd gotten Per to safety. If only he'd gotten Per into Josiah's hands.  
He fought to keep his head above water, to keep his numb arms and legs moving.

~ Their heads are green, and their hands are blue ~

He fought against the horrible rushing water – he wasn't about to let it have him.

~ And they went to sea in a sieve ~

 

PART 22:

Josiah didn't know how far he'd searched – it had been too far – too long – that's all he knew. The river rolled on and on, slowing finally as it shallowed, as the narrow channel opened up and the steep sides became gentle slopes. Josiah continued looking. He'd never stop until he found Ezra. He'd follow the river until it emptied out into the ocean if he had to.

I've failed so many times. I failed miserably with Miguel. I've lost Per -- please take care of that boy. Don't take Ezra. Please, dear Lord, don't take him from me. 

The damn Banyon River rolled on and on, tossing bits of refuse along with it – branches, rafts of leaves, and sometimes things that shone like metal. It rolled on and on.

Finally, as Josiah's mind reeled with dark thoughts, he caught sight of something at the water's edge -- a motionless dark heap. He pressed his exhausted horse the last few hundred feet, his eyes fixed on the shape, the still shape, the unmoving human shape.

Dear God, no. There was Ezra's jacket, torn and soaked – Ezra's brown hair, plastered to his head – his hands stretched out in front of him. Ezra – a dark heap at the river's pale and sandy edge. Please, Holy Mother of God, don't do this to me.

Prophet jerked to a stop as Josiah reined him in sharply. He leapt from his horse to fall beside the soaked form. "Ezra! Ezra! Oh God!"

Ezra's his face was expressionless and his skin had no color. He clothes were torn and sodden, the bandage had been lost at some point. He lay on his side, his feet still in the water. One bare foot was submerged beside a booted one. "Ezra," Josiah said softly, running his hand along the man's face. "Ezra, talk to me."

And still, Standish didn't move. His skin was so cold. The sight of the bare foot beneath the water broke Josiah's heart. Carefully, Josiah scooped Ezra up, pulling him the rest of the way from the river. Ezra was as limp as a doll in his arms.

"Ezra, son," Josiah called as he held the man against his chest. He slapped his face lightly. So damn cold! "Ezra, please." There was no response. Ezra was as still as death. Sanchez wouldn't take his pulse, too afraid at what he might find, couldn't tell if Ezra was even breathing. He held him close, not knowing what else to do.

Don't let him be dead. Please.

Josiah sat at the water's edge with the senseless gambler clutched against him.

Don't do this to me, Lord. Give him back!

And then, Ezra's eyes fluttered and were still. He took a sharp gasp and coughed weakly.  
Josiah felt his heart swell. "Ezra," he called softly. "Ezra."

It seemed to take a great deal of effort, but Ezra's eyelids finally parted. The green of his eyes was unnaturally lustrous next to his colorless skin. His gaze was dull and unfocused. He coughed miserably, huddling against the preacher. "J'siah?" he managed to say.

Thank you, Lord. Dear God in Heaven, thank you. Josiah didn't try to stop the tears that reached his eyes. "Yes, Ezra. I'm here. I got you."

Ezra coughed again and gazed languidly toward him, starting to shiver. "The boy?" His voice sounded so unsure, so upset.

The tears were coming in earnest as Josiah responded, "He's okay, Ezra. His mama has him now."

"Thank God," Ezra murmured, coughing wetly as he pressed his head against Josiah's chest.

Yes, Josiah thought, thank God. He wrapped his arms around the wet and shivering man, rubbing his back and trying to warm him.

 

PART 23:

Vin crouched near the ground, gazing at the muddle of prints. He scuffed at the bloodstains in the dirt. He didn't look up as he said, "Ezra."

"You sure?" Nathan asked, fingering his medical bag. The amount of blood had frightened him. Footprints were all through the area. He didn't know how Vin decided it was one man and not another that had gone down.

"Chaucer," Vin replied, pointing to the abundance of hoof prints that surrounded the bloody area. Tanner looked to Chris, noting his angry expression. The man who did this would pay.

"Garcia?" Chris bit off.

Vin nodded abruptly. "Wouldn't have been Josiah," was his response. "Wasn't anyone else here."

"Was he shot? Knifed?" Nathan asked quickly, needing to know more.

Vin shrugged, wondering what the hell they were expecting. He wasn't a shaman and couldn't see into the past. A man could only tell so much from the little signs left in the dust. Tanner wandered about until he found the spent slug. "Shot." He decided, "Went through him."

"When?" Chris asked between his teeth.

"Been a while. Last night maybe," Vin surmised as he walked back toward them, dusting his hands on his pants.

The men said nothing for several moments until Buck finally voiced what was on everyone's minds. "Is he dead?"

Vin couldn't say – he wouldn't say. Something suddenly caught his eye and he toed at a piece of thread, white yet stained brownish-red. He let out a long sigh as he realized what the dirty thread told him. "Josiah sewed him up I reckon."

Nathan frowned. "Damn," he muttered. "Wish I'd been here for him."

"Josiah's right good with the stitching," Buck said philosophically. "Ezra will be fine." Buck tried to look reassuring as he smiled, but in his heart, he was scared.

Vin looked to Buck, seeing that placating smile, and feeling just as frightened.

 

PART 24:

He couldn't think straight, could hardly function really. Somewhere in his mind, he realized that he'd stopped swimming, that he was resting finally. But he was still so cold.

~ They sailed to the Western Sea, they did, to a land all covered with trees ~

Something was holding him, trying to get him warm. It was a comforting thing. He wasn't used to comfort. Someone was saying his name quietly, calling to him. He wasn't sure if he should respond. 

Who was it? Ah yes, it was Josiah. There was something he needed to know, something he had to ask Josiah, something vastly important.

He forced his eyes open and tried to focus, blinking at the shape before his eyes. "J'siah?" he muttered.

~ And they bought an Owl, and a useful Cart, ~

"Yes, Ezra," his voice returned almost instantly. "I'm here."

~ and a pound of Rice, and a Cranberry Tart, and a hive of silvery Bees ~ 

"The boy?" He blinked, trying to clear his vision, to clear his mind, but it was hard. He couldn't remember if he'd asked that already. It was important. "Per?" The name sounded funny coming from shivering lips.

He thought he heard a catch in Josiah's voice. "The boy's fine, Ezra. Per is fine."

~ And they bought a Pig, and some green Jack-daws, ~

He was drifting away again. It was far too hard to stay awake. Josiah was calling. He honestly wanted to answer him, but it was far too easy to sleep.

~ and a lovely Monkey with lollipop paws ~

Someone sat him up and tried to get him to drink something. Why should he be thirsty? Hadn't he already drunk half the river and coughed up almost all of it again?

~ And forty bottles of Ring-Bo-Ree, and no end of Stilton Cheese ~

Josiah was talking still, trying to press the liquid on him. He decided that he wanted to drink, but his body just wasn't responding. It was easier to be still and do nothing.

"Far and few, far and few, far and few, far and few," he mumbled the words, not even aware that he had spoken them. The fricative f's all ran together.

Again, someone called his name. "I'm fine," he wanted to say, but instead he thought of Jumblies with their green heads and their blue hands, and going to sea in a sieve.

 

PART 25:

He'd hurried, but everything seemed to take forever. The fire finally came to life. The water finally boiled. The coffee finally percolated. He'd stripped off Ezra's wet and cold clothing, replacing them with some of his own from his saddlebags. Ezra had hardly responded to him, moving dully as he tried to help, shivering constantly. Josiah smiled softly when Ezra's remaining boot was pulled loose, revealing a remarkably dry fold of money.

Thank you, he murmured to whatever god had spared this small cache, knowing how unhappy Ezra would have felt if it had been lost.

He'd checked the bullet wound, finding it had split open, but Ezra was so cold that the blood hadn't started flowing again. He'd wait until Ezra warmed up a bit before he considered re-stitching him. Lord, he wasn't looking forward to that – the last time was bad enough. At least he had the sewing kit in his pocket -- but Ezra might have to settle for green thread this time. He tied a fresh bandage over the wound and hoped for the best.

Standish was bruised and battered, but still in one piece. He'd vomited up some of the river water he'd ingested, but that seemed to be over now. More than anything he was just so horribly cold, unable to stop shivering. Josiah pulled his bedroll from his saddle and laid it out. Then once Ezra was settled, Sanchez tossed Prophet's saddle blanket over him for good measure.

Ezra stirred and blinked at him, but didn't seem to come totally awake.

When the coffee was ready, Josiah filled a mug, added extra sugar. "Come on, Ezra, wake up," he ordered. "I need you to drink some of this." He hoped Ezra was more responsive this time. The previous attempts with the canteen had been futile.

Ezra looked up at him miserably, shivering under the blankets. He tried to leverage himself upright, but it was Josiah that completed the task for him, wrapping one arm around him and sitting him up.

Ezra's hands shook as he held the mug, and if Josiah hadn't wrapped a steadying hand over his, he never would have gotten the cup to his lips. He sipped at the brew and grimaced. "It's too sweet," he complained softly. "I'm not Vin."

"You could use the sugar right now, Ezra," Josiah explained. "Drink this up. I plan to get the whole pot into you."

Ezra grimaced again, leaning against the big preacher. "At least it's not one of Nathan's teas." He took a longer sip, seeming to relish the warmth.

Josiah smiled, but Ezra's constant shivering ate at him. Ezra's voice was difficult to distinguish through his chattering teeth, and he hoped that Standish didn't chip a tooth on the coffee cup. He pulled Standish closer. Ezra was lethargic as all hell and seemed only vaguely aware of what was going on around him. The fire was burning nicely now, but it failed to warm him.

"The boy?" Ezra asked again. The question had been posed several times, as Ezra lost track of whether he'd received an answer. "I had him…but…" he made an open handed gesture and would have dropped the mug if Josiah hadn't had a hold on it as well.

"He's okay, Ezra. You were able to get him to me in time," Josiah explained patiently. "His mother has him now."

"But I lost him. I let him go." Ezra's voice sounded so quiet and lost.

Josiah sighed, wondering how many times he'd have to go over this. "You never lost him, Ezra. You didn't let go until I had my hand on him. The boy's safe. He's with his mother."

Ezra nodded and reached for the mug again, taking another warming drink. "The son," he started again. "What of the son?"

Josiah closed his eyes mournfully. "He's with his mother, Ezra. He's fine. Ezra, listen to me, you saved him."

"No," Ezra said with a frown, concentrating to make himself understood, trying to still the chattering of his teeth. "Not the boy. The son…your son. The man who shot me. Where is he now?"

Josiah held Ezra against him, not knowing what to say. "I don't know, Ezra. Back at the camp. Maybe he's gone. I don't know."

"I see," Ezra responded.

Josiah helped Ezra take another drink, holding the mug steady as he shivered, letting him finish off the cup. Standish seemed to be mulling things over, but said nothing.

"Lord, Ezra, I don't know what I did so wrong. I don't know why that boy turned out like that. I thought I could be a good papa, but obviously, I'm a horrible father."

Ezra watched as Josiah set down the mug and filled it again from the pot, added far too much sugar and held it up for him.

"Careful, it's hot," Josiah said as he pressed the cup into Ezra's hands and helped him lift it. "Gotta go slow. Don't want to burn you."

Ezra drank again and sighed. "Josiah," he said softly, and took another sip. "I can't believe that you're such a horrible father."

Josiah pulled back the mug and frowned, his voice became bitter as he stated, "You've seen the fruits of my labors with your own eyes. How can you say that the man who shot you and tossed his son into a river is any good at all?"

Ezra laughed quietly as he leaned against Josiah, his eyelids heavy with exhaustion. "Miguel Garcia is a cur, at best. But, in spite of that, I believe you were a fine father."

Josiah helped Ezra to raise the cup to his lips again, and when some of the coffee dribbled down his chin, Josiah quickly set down the cup and mopped up the drops with a handkerchief. He was surprised by Ezra's soft chuckle.

"I didn't do enough," Josiah returned, exchanging the cloth for the mug, his other hand too busy with holding Ezra against him. "My own father wasn't perfect. There were times when…" He paused and then started again. "But he always tried to be the best for me and my sister. He wanted to make us good people. He wasn't always right, but at least he was there." His eyes became distant. "At least he tried. I, on the other hand, did nothing. I wasn't enough of a father. I should've taught Miguel right from wrong. I should've put him on a proper path. I could've done so much. I could've made him a better man than me. I could've made him better."

With a press of the hand, Ezra pushed the mug away and looked up to Josiah, his eyes wide and haunted. "Josiah, it isn't as easy as that."

"I could've done something…anything. I should've been in that boy's life."

The sad look hadn't left Ezra's face. "All of them can't be saved. Some children are lost from birth and a father's direction will do nothing for them. A man can try his hardest to make him ‘right', but if the child is uncooperative, difficult, incapable…" Ezra shrugged slightly, "Then there's nothing that can be done."

Ezra's eyelids were closing as he fought to stay awake. "Sometimes nothing will work, not persuasion, not humiliation, not intimidation, not even the application of a riding crop. Some children just aren't worth the trials, aren't worth the time." His voice became thicker as he started to drowse. "Sometimes, you must simply give up on a child as a total loss. Sometimes, you'd best denounce his blood and declare him someone else's son. Sometimes it's best to just get rid of him and let him be raised by wolves."

Ezra tucked his head into the blanket and finally closed his eyes completely, shivering still as he fell into a deep sleep.

"Ezra," Josiah called softly as he set down the mug. "Ezra, listen to me." But the soft, almost non-existent snore had returned. The preacher felt nearly as cold as Ezra once the impact of the words hit him. "It's not like that," Josiah persisted. "You're not like that. Listen to me."

But Ezra slept. Josiah continued to hold the sleeping man, rocking him slightly, wishing he could understand, but knowing that Ezra revealed little. He doubted that he'd hear more.

Exhausted, the preacher finally settled Ezra again in the bedroll and then lay down beside him. He pulled the blankets over both of them and threw one arm over the other man to ensure that he'd awaken if Ezra were to stir.

 

PART 26:

It was late in the day when five men reached the camp by the river. A tent stood, but it had an abandoned look about it. The flaps moved in the wind. The fire had long since burned out. Remnants of the previous occupants were scattered -- empty bottles, plates, a big iron pan, a jacket. The whole area had a forlorn aura about it; and bleakest of all was the chestnut horse that gazed out at the river.

As the group approached, the horse turned to see them. It flicked its ears, apparently recognizing them, but its head continued to hang, its ears drooped, and its tail was listless. Peso and Clyde whinnied a greeting, but the horse just turned back to the river.

"Hey, Chaucer," JD called as he approached on horseback. "What's the matter, fella?" he asked soothingly, patting the gelding. "Where's your man, huh?"

The others dismounted and started searching through the ruined site. Vin looked for tracks in the muddle. "There's been a woman here," Tanner said. "Kid, too."

"What?" Buck started, an anger catching him. "A lady and a kid?"

"How old?" Chris shot back at Vin.

Suspecting that Chris was referring to the kid, Tanner answered. "Walking, but pretty small. Couldn't be more than two." If Chris had wanted the woman's age it would have been more of a guess.

Chris ground his teeth. "What the hell did Garcia do to them?"

Horrified looks flitted across the gunslingers' faces as Vin continued his searching. "Can't say much," Tanner finally stated. "Looks like she was here before Garcia and the others."

Vin shrugged, frustrated. Why did they think he could see everything? He said nothing as he continued to search.

Nathan peered into the tent. "Looks like they left in a hurry," the healer muttered. "Didn't pick up much of anything." His eyes fastened on the little cache of guns, finding a mix of Ezra and Josiah's armaments in the pile. A little wooden box caught his attention and he opened it curiously, finding a collection of documents.

Buck picked up the discarded jacket and patted at it. He pulled something from the pocket and snorted at the sight -- Ezra's flask -- empty. A little more searching brought up the southerner's pocket watch. He ran his thumb over the monogram, EPS. In another pocket, Buck found his ruby ring. Finally he came up with a little fold of money, $20.

He looked up, realizing that Nathan was watching him. "Josiah's," Nathan said. "But if you find a receipt in there somewhere, then it might be Ezra's." He returned his attention to the box, fingering the documents and pulling the top one free of the bunch. "Huh?" he said as he examined it. "Well, I figure I know who that lady was."

"Who's that?" JD asked brightly.

Nathan handed the document to Buck, saying, "Looks like it's Garcia's wife. This here's a marriage certificate."

Buck jerked his hand back before coming in contact with it. "Damn, Nate! Don't get one of those things near me!"

Nathan smirked and drew the document back. "Seems her name is Kerstin. They got married about three years ago."

Chris nodded tightly, relieved. "At least I won't have to gut the man. Might still have to kill him though, for shooting Ezra." Larabee watched Vin, watched as the tracker worked his trade, drinking in what he could from the signs. "Well?" he asked finally.

"Been a lot of movin' around," Vin declared. "Couldn't tell ya what all went on here, but I figure a man and a woman ran along the river a bit and came on back."

"A man? Which one?"

"Maybe Josiah. Maybe Garcia. Garcia's a big man." Vin looked uncommitted. "Two horses with riders went east and another followed the river."

Larabee turned his eyes on JD, who was patting Chaucer softly as the lonely horse stared at the river. "Figure out which one was Josiah?"

Vin shrugged again. "Two big horses. Can't tell them apart." Again, he had that feeling of aggravation. How the hell could he tell anything after Chaucer ran riot through the place? He glared at the tracks. And then glanced at Chaucer. Ezra wouldn't have left the horse behind easily and the horse wouldn't have stayed without reason.

He returned his attention to the tracks. "Figure a big man was on each of those big horses. No one was ridin' double, ‘cept for maybe the kid." He toed one of the prints, deep but not too deep. "They all went off at a pretty good pace."

"You know," JD said thoughtfully. "Ya think, maybe, his wife was the accomplice they mentioned in the telegram? Maybe she's the one that got him out of jail and headed south outta South Bridge."

The other four looked at him with surprised expressions. "Could be, JD," Buck said with a proud smile. "It may just be that. Figure she rode off from here with her husband." His eyes followed the route that Tanner had pointed out. "So that leaves Ezra."

Larabee watched JD coax Chaucer.

"Come on," JD said softly, finally drawing Chaucer away from the river. "Where do you think he went?"

Vin walked to the river's edge and pondered the signs.

Buck frowned as he watched his friend, noting the solemn expressions, noting the direction of his glances. The river -- the vigilant horse -- the missing man. "You don't think…" he started. "Damn," he muttered as the situation seemed to come clear. "Son of a bitch."

"What?" JD asked as Buck, Chris and Vin came to the river's edge. Nathan looked at him questioningly, not understanding yet.

"Figure Ezra ended up in the Banyon and Josiah took off after?" Chris asked, finally voicing what had been bothering him.

Vin nodded.

Nathan paused as he stowed the found guns. "Damn," he sighed. He was glad that they'd rested their horses a short time ago, because there'd be no rest now.

"Do we split up?" Buck asked anxiously. "Figure someone should track down Garcia and his wife."

Vin rubbed his chin. "It'll be dark before long. Won't be able to track, but it'll be easy enough to keep along the Banyon." His eyes followed the river. "Figure we'd might as well find Ezra and Josiah b'fore we go after Garcia." Already he was itching to get moving -- find out what the hell happened. God, Josiah better have caught up to Ezra. Tanner's stomach turned at the thought that Standish might have drowned. No, it wouldn't have happened that way, he convinced himself.

They were all mounted again in a matter of minutes. Buck had tucked his friend's belongings into his pockets while Nathan finished packing the weapons. JD tied Chaucer's reins to his saddle.

The group continued on their way, joined by the rider-less horse, following the Banyon River.

 

PART 27:

The sky was starting to grow dark. Josiah threw another log onto the fire and sat back beside his slumbering friend. Josiah had napped throughout the day, awakening whenever Ezra moved. During the short spates of time when Ezra was relatively lucid, Josiah tried to get some more hot coffee into him, but Ezra never lasted long. Josiah attempted to make a hearty broth out of the jerky he had in his saddle, but the result was hardly palatable and he tossed it out before Ezra got wind of it. He settled for some biscuits, fresh baked by the fire. He was glad that Miguel never thought to remove the bags from the saddle. Ezra didn't seem to care much for the food in any case; all he wanted was to be warm again and to sleep.

Josiah sat beside him, resting one hand on Ezra's shoulder, watching the fire burn. Standish had finally stopped shivering, but he still held the blankets tightly around him -- probably more for comfort than anything. ‘How many times have you found comfort in things like that instead of other people, Ezra?' Josiah thought.

He puzzled over what he'd heard from Ezra -- what little he'd learned about Ezra's father. Did he ever comfort you, Ezra? Did he ever show you that he cared for you? Certainly he must have. I would have.

Did Ezra's father really consider him a total loss? Not worth the trouble? Did he actually denounce Ezra as his child?

Ezra Standish -- so ‘Standish' wasn't his father's name. Was it Maude's? There was no telling. Did the name ‘Standish' have any meaning to the conman? Perhaps he'd just made it up as he rode between one town and another – between cons. He'd probably changed his name constantly. What would that be like, having no name of his own? Who was Ezra Standish really?

"He was wrong, Ezra. Don't you realize that? He was wrong. He had this great kid in his care and he threw it away." He knew Ezra wouldn't listen to him if he were awake, wouldn't stand for it. He'd deny anything and try to brush him off. If Josiah were to persist, he'd turn into a tiger until the preacher gave up to save his own skin.

Maybe Ezra could hear him in his sleep. "Do you understand me, Ezra? It wasn't your fault. He's the one who screwed up." How could a man treat a child like that? Could Ezra understand that?

Yes, Josiah decided, Ezra did understand that an adult had no right to harm a child in any way. He remembered how easily Ezra had gained Per's friendship, how Ezra spoke to the children of the town, how the kids all flocked to him, knowing that they'd be safe with him, knowing that they'd be treated well.

He thought about how Ezra spoiled his damn horse. Do you pamper your horse to make up for some of that? he thought. Do you treat that animal the way you wish you'd been treated? -- with patience and understanding, with tolerance and gentleness, with forgiveness of faults and praise of achievements, with pride? 

"You're a better man than your father ever was, Ezra," Josiah continued. "You're worlds above him." He listened to Ezra's soft breathing, wondering if he'd heard a change in the rhythm -- maybe Ezra was waking, maybe he was listening. "You would never hurt a child. You just got to realize that the same should have applied to you."

"I need you to understand this, Ezra," Josiah said softly. "You're an amazing young man. Anyone would be pleased to count you as kin. When I see Miguel, I can't help thinking I wish he was more like you. Sometimes, I wish he wasn't my son at all. I wish…" he paused, his hand still resting on Ezra's shoulder. "I wish you were my son and not someone else's. I'd take you in a minute if the offer was ever made."

A noise made Josiah stop. He stood stiffly, putting himself between Ezra and the approaching sound -- horsemen.

Miguel? he wondered. Perhaps his son had gone off and collected some help, or maybe it was a gang of banditos. There was no telling what was bearing down on them. Sanchez had no weapon to protect them. A piece of wood would be the best he could hope for. He picked up a branch and held it like a club.

"Ezra," Josiah said urgently. "Wake up, Ezra. Wake up." He heard Ezra stirring quietly behind him. "Wake up and keep still," he ordered. Ezra apparently complied, and said nothing.

The horses were coming toward them, jogging along the river -- obviously guided by the firelight. Josiah held the club away from his body so that the silhouette of the weapon would be seen. He wasn't going to go down without a fight.

Josiah sucked in a breath, waiting. He wouldn't let them hurt Ezra.

The horsemen slowed and then stopped.

"Hey, Josiah!" he heard a familiar voice call. "You aim to hit one of us with that? ‘Cause if you do, I know I ain't comin' any closer."

"Buck!" Josiah called back, exhaling in relief and letting the cudgel drop. "I'm disarmed. I welcome you with open arms." He raised his hands for emphasis and smiled as the group rode into the firelight. He was damn grateful to see all of them.

"Hey, Josiah!" JD greeted cheerfully. "Hey, Ezra!" Chaucer nickered happily and pranced about in a little joyful dance, pulling about on his tether and causing Toby to make an awkward step.

Vin dismounted and leaned against Peso, smiling.

"Ezra," Chris squatted beside Standish, meeting his eyes, needing to see Ezra clearly to ensure he was going to be okay.

"Present and accounted for, sir," Ezra returned with a weak smile.

"Thought I told you I that I wouldn't stand for hearin' you got yourself hurt again."

He shrugged. "Couldn't be helped."

Larabee smirked slightly. "Yeah, right." He then raised his eyes to meet Josiah's. "Josiah, good to see you both."

"Yeah," Buck nodded enthusiastically. "The two of you put a bit of a scare on us."

"And not without good reason." Josiah sighed. "Nate, I need you to look over Ezra."

Jackson nodded tightly. "I figured as much," he responded as he slid down from Badger's saddle. "How's he doin'?"

Josiah stepped toward Nathan to help him collect his medical supplies. Ezra's eyes followed him, blinking back at him dully. "He got shot yesterday and almost drowned earlier today."

"Don't ya think that gettin' shot was enough for one man?" Buck asked as he came up behind Chris. "Most folks with any sense would have stopped at that. But no, you gotta go take a dunking."

"I couldn't agree with you more, Mr. Wilmington," Ezra said tiredly. "It was pure insanity on my part."

Chris nodded. "Well, that's expected. How ya feelin'?"

A grimace was followed by, "Miserable."

"Where'd ya get hit?" Nathan asked.

"A bit of a tear across my side," Ezra muttered. "Nothing of consequence." He tried to sit up without much luck. "Mr. Sanchez has seen to it."

"He's gonna need new stitching," Josiah explained as Nathan and Chris easily pushed Ezra back down and started pulling back the blankets.

"Hmmm," Nathan responded, and then asked Ezra, "Cold?" as he finally made his way through the layers. The healer smiled when he discovered the oversized clothing that Ezra had ended up in. The usually dapper southerner looked comical, like a child dressed in his father's clothing.

"I was rather comfortable up until a moment ago." Ezra couldn't stop a shiver as the cool night air reached him.

Vin obligingly threw more wood on the fire.

Larabee pressed a hand against Ezra's shoulder in case he chose to move, careful of his bruises. He felt Ezra tense under him. "Keep still, Ezra," Chris said quietly. And then asked Josiah, "Who shot him?"

"Miguel shot him," Sanchez said softly. "My son."

No one seemed too surprised, but there was silence for a while as Nathan carefully peeled back the makeshift bandage and Ezra clenched the blankets beneath him. Chris and Josiah both laid hands on him, to hold him.

"Damn, Ezra…" Buck muttered when he saw the long bullet wound that creased Ezra's side. "Ya get him riled or somethin'?"

Ezra opened his eyes. "I'm afraid that's correct. 'Riling' seems to be my forte. It was an unfortunate…" He paused as Nathan messed about on his side, but still didn't move. "…situation to which I reacted poorly."

"Miguel was gonna shoot me. Ezra disarmed him. I'd probably be dead if Ezra hadn't stopped him. My son…" Josiah's voice trailed off. Near the fire, Vin and JD had set a pot to boil, knowing that Nathan would probably want it.

"Ezra saved my life," Josiah finally added. "If he hadn't disarmed Miguel, I'd be dead right now."

A smile twitched at Ezra's lips. "A somewhat exaggerated version of facts. Mr. Garcia, I believe, had only meant to frighten our Mr. Sanchez. I reacted in a rather unsatisfactory…"

"Hush up!" Nathan barked suddenly, seeing Ezra's shudder. The wound was bleeding again and looked pretty darn painful. There was an unhappy redness about the edges of it, telling of an infection starting.

"He saved that little boy, too," Josiah continued.

"A boy? The kid from the camp?" JD asked.

Josiah nodded solemnly. "Miguel… Miguel dropped the boy in the river. Ezra dove in after him. Saved that babe's life. Almost cost him his own."

"I wasn't thinkin' straight," was Ezra's response.

"Ezra," Nathan's started. "I gotta get this cleaned and stitched back up, so you be quiet for a while."

"But the river, certainly, was cleaning enough," Ezra tried.

Nathan snorted. "Yeah, it probably did some good, but not enough. Gonna need something to knock out this infection you got goin'."

"Lovely," Ezra gave an exaggerated sigh and murmured, "Last time I had whiskey."

Nathan jerked his head at Vin who stepped to Nathan's bags to root out the ‘medicinal' whiskey. "It ain't that fine stuff yer used to, Ez," Vin said as he looked at the label. "But it'll do the trick."

"A godsend, Mr. Tanner," Ezra sighed as Vin uncorked the bottle. He smiled as Tanner took the first drink and then handed it to Ezra. "I hope this is over soon. It's dreadfully cold tonight and you have me half-naked."

"It'll just be a moment, Ezra," Nathan assured. "You won't even know what I'm doing."

"Lord," Ezra said after he finished his first gulp. He took another before continuing. "I hope, at least, YOU know what you're doing."

"Quiet now!" Nathan's voice was stern, but not fierce. He took the bottle from Ezra when he figured that he'd had enough to take the edge off. "I'm gonna need the rest of this to clean things up. You sit quiet." His voice took on a softer quality when he said, "I'll do it fast as I can, okay?"

Ezra nodded, his eyes closed again. "The sooner you're done the better."

"Let me get this straight, Josiah," Buck said, needing to talk to draw attention away from the gruesome act before him. "Ezra Standish jumped into a freezing river to save some kid?"

JD had returned to taking care of the horses. He patted them gently to avoid looking at what was going on behind him. "I didn't think that Ezra liked the cold that much."

"He don't," Vin replied. He moved one of the tossed off blankets so that it at least half covered Ezra, moving it carefully so that no dust was stirred. Ezra was shivering again in the cool night beside the fire. Ezra didn't make any sign that he'd felt anything. His eyes were tightly closed and his hands clenched as Nathan started the work of cleaning out the wound.

"He was incredible," Josiah said as he moved closer to Ezra, hoping to keep the chill off of him. "You would've been proud of what he did." He smiled warmly as he saw a confused expression play against Ezra's otherwise taut face. "I know I was damn proud of him."

 

PART 28:

"Well, what do we do?" Vin asked as he leaned over Peso's neck. He looked toward their leader and waited.

Larabee glared out across the land, narrowing his eyes. He said nothing.

"Well," JD called, Toby pacing anxiously beneath him. The horse was exhausted, but ready to do as his rider asked. "Do we keep goin'?"

Buck glanced between Vin and Chris, reading their expressions. "Figure we turn back," Wilmington responded because none of the others spoke up. He patted Clyde on his neck as an apology for the hard ride. The big gray nickered his appreciation for the consideration.

"But… but we can't!" JD cried. "We ain't caught him yet!"

The seven of them had spent the remainder of the night and the morning at the fire where they'd found Josiah and Ezra. Everyone needed sleep and no one would be functioning well without it. Buck, Chris, JD and Vin had started out first, to backtrack and then to follow the trail left by Garcia. Nathan, Josiah and Ezra were to start later, and slowly make their way back toward home.

The four had been following the trail left by Garcia ever since then. They'd seen where Kerstin's trail had split from Garcia's as she turned to the northeast while he continued southeast. They'd found the dead roan where it had fallen after being run to death. They'd followed Miguel's footsteps to the little pueblo in the middle of nowhere and had spoken to the poor farmer who had lost his only horse – stolen by that bandito!

Now, they stood on a flint hard desert, where tracking would be nearly impossible.

Buck continued, "He's got more than a day on us and a horse that ain't about to give out. We gotta rest these boys, Chris, or we're gonna lose ‘em sure as Garcia lost that pretty roan of his."

"If we keep goin', we'll catch up to ‘im!" JD insisted. "He's probably sleepin' somewhere. Vin'll find ‘im."

Tanner turned toward JD and sighed. "Asleep or not, he's got a lot of time on us. It'll be slow goin' fer me to track on this stuff." He glanced to the sky above them. "It's nearly night. Gonna rain tomorrow. Won't be able to track shit once that starts to fall."

"Yeah, but he shot Ezra," JD put in. "And knifed those two guys. We can't let ‘im get away with that!"

"What do we do, cowboy?" Vin asked. "I'll keep tryin' for what good it'll do."

Chris said nothing, staring out across the path that Garcia must have followed. Above them, clouds were gathering.

"What about that boy – Per," JD continued. "What if Garcia has that kid?"

"Wasn't no tussle at their parting," Vin explained. "After what Josiah said about that woman, I doubt she'd give that kid up without spillin' blood. Figure that lady has ‘im. Garcia let ‘em go their own way. He went his." Again, he turned to Chris. "Cowboy?"

Finally, Larabee said in a hoarse voice, "We camp and head home in the morning." He turned to JD as if he expected the young man to contradict him.

JD opened his mouth as if to speak, but shut it audibly when he saw the look in Chris' eyes.

Larabee continued, "We catch up to Josiah, Nate and Ezra. Those two are going to have their hands full with that fool southerner."

"He sure didn't look so good when we left them," Buck said sadly. He wondered how much distance the other three had made during the day. He doubted Ezra could travel for long, but Standish sure did try his best.

"They'll take it slow," Vin assured. "We'll catch up, and go on home together."

JD frowned as he turned his horse around, as Vin started backtracking to a promising-looking camping spot he'd seen a short distance back. "It ain't fair," JD muttered. "We should ‘ave got that guy!"

Chris nodded, silent again. Yes, he wanted Garcia -- wanted to bring that bastard in to justice, but he recalled Sanchez' sad resignation earlier that day. Garcia was still Josiah's son. Chris wouldn't let Josiah see his boy hang.

They'd get home – all seven of them. And hopefully, things would be able to return to normal.

 

PART 29:

"Ah! Mr. Sanchez!" Ezra called as Josiah stepped into the saloon. He gestured and Josiah made his way across the room. "Good to see you, sir."

"Ezra," Josiah said as he sat at the offered chair. "Feelin' better, I see."

"Tip top!" Ezra responded with a grin. Standish had looked like death warmed over when they'd made it back to town. He'd been kept in the clinic for all day after that – following that with another two days in his room. Finally, the color returned to his face and Ezra began to be sighted in his usual haunts. Yes, it was good to see him out and about again.

Ezra's hands played over a small leather-bound book. "I believe there's a transaction you wanted to complete," he said leadingly.

Josiah shook his head and fumbled in his pocket, pulling out the fold of money as Ezra opened the book and set up his inkstand with a grand gesture. He licked his thumb and flipped to the correct page. Josiah watched his fastidious movements with a smile.

"I believe," Ezra started. "We have a matter of $22 to attend to."

Josiah's smile suddenly dropped. "$22? It was $20 last week!"

Ezra smiled. "Yes, but that was last week. There is such a thing as interest, Mr. Sanchez." Ezra opened his arms. " I was waiting right here for you at the appointed hour. You failed to come on schedule. You should be happy I haven't added extra administrative charges."

"$22?"

Ezra nodded. "Yes sir, $22. I've rounded to the nearest dollah." He grinned, showing his gold tooth. "No sense in talkin' about pennies and such."

"Rounded up or down?" Josiah asked with suspicion.

"Why, Mr. Sanchez." Ezra looked astonished. "Up, of course."

Josiah shook his head, trying to hide the smile that wanted to find him. He fished another two dollars out of his pocket and added them to the $20 in the fold. He set the newly accrued amount in front of the ink stand. Ezra made a note in his ledger and turned the book to Josiah for his initial. With graceful hand, Ezra wrote out the receipt, signed it and handed the note to Josiah.

"There you are, Mr. Sanchez. You may call our debt officially closed." Ezra snatched up the money and slid it into his pocket so quickly that the cash seemed to disappear as if by magic.

"You gonna count it?" Josiah asked.

"I wasn't planning on it." Ezra looked at him disarmingly. "Should I?"

Josiah shrugged and shook his head. "I suspect not." He smiled at the man with the ledger. It was good to see Ezra feeling 'tip top' again. The trip home had been painful for both of them. Ezra had been so sick and unresponsive most of the time. It broke the Josiah's heart to see the quick-witted southerner like that. Ezra finally brightened a bit when the other four rejoined them, but wasn't totally at ease until they'd all arrived home.

Chris had delivered the news that they'd lost Miguel. Josiah took the news in stride, not knowing whether he should be happy or sad to hear that his son had avoided the law and managed to outride the noose. At least his son was still alive in the world. Josiah wished they'd been able to find Per if nothing else. Lord, he wanted to see his grandson again -- ensure that Per was going to be okay. If he were only able, Josiah would take care of that young child -- see that he was raised right.

Josiah watched as Ezra carefully put away his inkstand. "Do you think he's still riding?" Sanchez asked quietly, not realizing that he hadn't prefaced the question.

Ezra shrugged, understanding in any case. "If he has managed to stay away from further legal entanglements, I suppose he still rides free." Ezra raised his eyes and continued, "If he's smart, he'll stay in Mexico."

"Yes, yes," Josiah said with a nod. "He'd best stay put, if he's smart." He ran his hand along the edge of the table and muttered, "The law in Mexico can be severe."

Ezra gave him an empathetic look. "The Federales are a force to be reckoned with. But, I'd hope they'd let the young man send a message to his father if something were to go awry. They'd let you see him."

Josiah furrowed his brow. "What? Do you think I'd go to him again? If he were to commit a crime and be set up for execution, do you think I'd go to him again?"

"Why, of course," Ezra responded. "You're his father. He's your son. Of course you'd go. It's what a good father would do." Standish smiled as he carefully picked up the ledger. "Now if you allow, I must be going. I understand that Miss Katie has acquired a new kitten and she's made an appointment with me to visit with it." Ezra sighed expansively as if he should be annoyed, but his eyes betrayed his delight. "I believe we're having a tea party. I must dress accordingly. It's a momentous day. Good day, sir."

Josiah watched as Ezra stood stiffly and headed to the stairs at the back of the saloon, to stow his ledger and change his clothing to whatever was appropriate for a kitten's tea party. Sanchez smiled as Ezra walked carefully up the stairs, slow because he was still healing from his wound.  
Josiah thought about what Ezra had said. Would he ride again if his son called for him? Yes, he probably would. He'd go to Miguel if the young man asked for him.

And, he'd find his grandson again. Already he had sent out inquiries, trying to track down Kerstin and her son. He knew her maiden name from the marriage certificate, and searched using both names. Somewhere, she'd show up again. He wanted to be there for his grandson, to do what he could for the boy. Per Josiah Garcia would want for nothing if Josiah could only find them again. If he found that boy again, he'd never let him go.

He may have failed as a father, but he'd do everything he could to be a proper grandfather. He desperately wanted a child… a son or grandson to call his own.

But what about Ezra? That gambler must have been something to him, too? There had to be something between them. Sure, Ezra was someone else's son, but that didn't mean that Josiah didn't have some responsibility toward him. Standish's father had disowned him, so didn't that mean there was an open space that could be filled? A man needs a father. They may not be related by blood, but certainly there are other ways…

At his fingers, sat the receipt. Josiah turned it so that he could read it properly. The date and the total amount of the debt was written at the top, with a note in regard to the final $20 paid. Below that was written, "Mr. Josiah Sanchez, of Four Corners -- has completed all debts currently outstanding to Mr. Ezra P. Standish -- also of Four Corners. Mr. Sanchez is declared a free man with no further responsibility owed toward Mr. Standish. No further legal entanglement remains."

Josiah fingered the paper solemnly and muttered, "Well that's the end of that." Funny, he would miss this ritual of theirs. Now that the loan was completed, their standing appointment would be gone. Well, it didn't mean that they couldn't meet for other reasons.

He folded the paper and stuffed it into his pocket. With a smile, he decided that the legal entanglement had ended, but another remained.

 

PART 30:

Ezra carefully tied his cravat as he smiled at his image in the mirror. Yes, he did look particularly striking in this jacket and vest. He'd be the hit of the tea party. Under his breath, he recited the final stanza of the damn poem that had been pestering him for so long, "And in twenty years they all came back, in twenty years or more."

He picked up his hat and easily placed it on his head and appreciated the image reflected to him. He cocked his head and smiled. Yes, this will do. After a dramatic pause, he continued, "And every one said, ‘How tall they've grown! For they've been to the Lakes, and the Torrible Zone, and the hills of the Chankly Bore;"

Since it was obvious that no further improvements were necessary – he'd reached the height of perfection – he turned to the door and pressed it open. The verse continued in his head as he made his way down the stairs.

~ And they drank their health, and gave them a feast of dumplings made of beautiful yeast ~  
He noted that Josiah hadn't left the table. Ezra nodded to him and the preacher smiled back with surprising warmth. Funny how Mr. Sanchez could behave like that. Ezra supposed that it was in the preacher's nature and that he simply couldn't help himself.

~ Far and few, far and few, are the lands where the Jumblies live ~

Josiah had been particularly attentive to him since they'd come back to town. Well, particularly attentive during the whole horrible ride back from the Banyon River too. It was comforting really, to have someone like that nearby -- someone who wasn't ready to fault him for his weakness, who wasn't looking for some manner of gain, who didn't want to exploit his abilities for some reason. It was interesting -- really, to find someone who seemed to care.

~ Their heads are green, and their hands are blue ~

Ezra tipped his hat to the respectable man and Josiah responded with a nod. It really was too bad, Ezra thought, that Miguel hadn't been a better son to his father, that Josiah had lost his grandson, Per. Mr. Sanchez certainly deserved someone to dote on and care for. He hoped that Josiah found someone like that.

THE END


End file.
